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COCVRICHT DEPOSIT. 



Ube Stubcnts' Series of Enolisb Classtcs, 



THE 



PRISONEROFCHILLON 
MAZEPPA 

AND 

OTHER SELECTIONS 

FROM 

LORD BYRON 



EDITED, WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES, 

BY 

CHARLES MAURICE STEBBINS, A.M. 

boys' high school, BROOKLYN, N.Y. 




SIBLEY & COMPANY 

BOSTON CHICAGO 





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PREFACE. 



The commanding position that Byron made for him- 
self in the Romantic renaissance during the early years 
of the nineteenth century makes him an important figure 
in the history of English literature, and as such he justly 
holds a place in the curricula of secondary schools. More- 
over, his intense, subjective, dashing style renders him 
particularly interesting to younger readers. The Pris- 
oner of Chillon and Mazeppa are especially valuable for 
use early in the course when emphasis is being laid on 
narrative literature. The two poems, while possessed of 
many common characteristics, are widely different in 
tone, in spirit; and will thus furnish variety in material 
for narrative study. 

There has been supplied to each poem a series of ques- 
tions, the purpose of which is to lead the pupil to think 
for himself. It is not necessary that he be able to give 
satisfactory answers to all of them. If, by suggesting a 
new point of view or by broadening his horizon, they stim- 
ulate his imagination ever so little or provoke the least 
independent thinking, they accomplish their purpose. 
The true ends of education are not realized by giving 



IV PREFACE. 

the pupil to do what he can do well, but by leading him 
to strive for that which is just beyond his reach. 

The shorter pieces in this volume have been selected 
with a view to showing the best side of the poet's roman- 
tic genius — his appreciation of nature, his love for all 
that is deep and noble in human life, his sympathy for 
the oppressed, and his hatred of oppression. 



CHARLES M. STEBBINS. 



B0Y8' High School, Brooklyn. 
June, 1906. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Preface u% 

Introduction — 

Ckitical Comments 1 

Biographical Sketch 4 

Historical Sketch of Chillon 14 

The Prisoner of Chillon 23 

Spain 38 

Solitude 40 

Leucadia 41 

Greece 43 

Leaving England the Last Time 47 

Waterloo 48 

The Drachenfels 61 

Lake Leman 53 

Clarens 59 

Venice 62 

The Ocean 65 

A Grecian Sunset 68 

Greece 71 

Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte 76 

The Isles of Greece 83 

Ave Maria 87 

Mazeppa 90 

Notes 123 



INTRODUCTION. 



CRITICAL COMMENTS. 

The Position of Byron as a Poet is a curious one. He 
is partly of the past and partly of the present. Something of 
the school of Pope clings to him ; yet no one so completely 
broke away from old measures and old manners to make his 
poetry individual, not imitative. At first he has no interest 
whatever in the human questions which were so strongly felt 
by Wordsworth and Shelley. His early work is chiefly narra- 
tive poetry, written that he might talk of himself and not of 
mankind. Nor has he any philosophy except that which cen- 
tres round the problem of his own being. . . . We feel nat- 
urally great interest in this strong personality, put before us 
with such obstinate power, but it wearies us at last. Finally 
it wearied himself. As he grew in power, he escaped from his 
morbid self, and ran into the opposite extreme in Don Juan. 
It is chiefly in it that he shows the influence of the revolution- 
ary spirit. It is written in bold revolt against all the conven- 
tionality of social morality and religion and politics. ... As 
a poet of nature he belongs also to the old and the new school. 
Byron's sympathy with nature is a sympathy with himself re- 
flected in her moods. But he also escapes from this position 
of the later eighteenth century poets, and looks on nature as 

1 



2 LOBD BYBON. 

sl'e is, apart from himself ; and this escape is made, as in the 
case of his poetry of man, in his later poems. Lastly, it is his 
colossal power, and the ease that comes from it, in which he 
resembles Dryden, as well as his amazing productiveness, which 
mark him specially. But it is always more power of the intel- 
lect than of the imagination. 

Stopford a. Brooke. 

Never had any writer so vast a command of the whole elo- 
quence of scorn, misanthropy, and despair. That Marah was 
never dry. No art could sweeten, no draughts could exhaust, 
its perennial waters of bitterness. Never was there such va- 
riety in monotony as that of Byron. From maniac laughter 
to piercing lamentation, there was not a single note of human 
anguish of which he was not master. ... To us he is still a 
man, young, noble, and unhappy. To our children he will be 
merely a writer; and their impartial judgment will appoint 
his place among writers, without regard to his rank or to his 
private history. That his poetry will undergo a severe sifting, 
that much of what has been admired by his contemporaries 
will be rejected as worthless, we have little doubt. But we have 
as little doubt that, after the closest scrutiny, there will still 
remain much that can only perish with the English language. 

Lord Macaulay. 

As a poet, Byron professed himself a partisan of Pope, and 
his first successful essay is after the manner of Pope ; but no 
writer belongs more thoroughly to the early nineteenth century 
and all its movements than he. In one respect it might have 
been better for him had he really followed his professed mas- 
ter ; viz., in careful workmanship. His productions are often 



CRITICAL COMMENTS. 3 

wanting in finish. lie did not " file " and perfect enough. In 

this regard as in others he is the son of his time. He is of the 

revolution. His age is fallen and base, to his thinking. This 

thought filled him with contempt and scorn for it. . . . His 

spirit found its most congenial expression in a kind of poetry 

that allowed it the utmost freedom of style, where he could 

praise or mock, be refined or coarse, terrible or grotesque, comic 

or tragic or farcical, as his mood was. 

Hales. 

His work and Shelley's, beyond that of all our other poets, 

recall or suggest the wide and high things of nature, the large 

likeness of the elements, the immeasurable liberty and the 

stormy strength of waters and winds. They are strongest 

when they touch upon these ; and it is worth remark how few 

are the poets of whom this can be said. 

Swinburne. 

Along with his astounding power and passion, he had a 

strong and deep sense for what is beautiful in nature, and for 

what is beautiful in human action and suffering. When he 

warms to his work, when he is inspired, Nature herself seems 

to take the pen from him as she took it from Wordsworth, 

and to write for him as she wrote for Wordsworth, though in 

a different fashion, with her own penetrating simplicity. . . . 

But these two, Wordsworth and Byron, stand, it seems to me, 

first and foremost in actual performance, a glorious pair among 

the English poets of this century. 

Matthew Arnold. 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF LORD BYRON. 



George Gordon Byron was born in London, Jan. 22, 
1788. 

He was of noble descent on both sides of the family, his 
mother being a descendant of James I. through his daughter 
Annabella. 

His descent on his father's side is traceable as far back as 
the time of the Conquest. Two members of the family of 
Buruns, as the name was spelled, crossed over with William, 
and Ralph, the poet's ancestor, settled in Nottinghamshire. 
His son Hugh was lord of Horestan Castle in the County of 
Derby. The son of this Hugh became a monk of Lenton ; but 
the line was continued by his son Sir Roger, who endowed 
with lands the monastery of Swinstead. 

The spelling of the name had now become Buron ; and the 
next in line, Robert, who lived in the time of Henry IL, 
adopted the present spelling. By his marriage with Cecilia, 
daughter and heir of Sir Richard Clayton, this Sir Robert de 
Byron added to the family possessions a large estate in Lan- 
cashire, which became the family residence of the Byrons till 
the time of Henry VIII. 

Members of the family fought and died at the siege of 
Calais, at Cressy, and at Bosworth ; and several of them were 
knighted for their bravery. 

4 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 6 

"Sir John the Little of the Great Beard" seems to have 
won the favor of Henry VIII., and was granted the Priory of 
Newstead upon the dissolution of monasteries by this monarch. 
Sir John's descendants were all Royalists, and seven of them 
were in the field at Edgehill. 

One of these Byrons, also named John, for his services at 
Newbury was created Baron of Rochdale by Charles 1. This 
was in 1643. 

The second Lord Byron was Richard, John's brother, who 
was noted in war, especially for his heroic defence of Newark. 
His son William became the third Lord Byron, and is memo- 
rable principally because of his marriage with the daughter of 
Viscount Chaworth. He was a patron of poets, and was him- 
self capable of rhyming. 

The fourth lord was gentleman of the bedchamber to Prince 
George of Denmark, and is said to have been a man of some 
culture and taste. His children, however, were a wild, pas- 
sionate, and adventurous lot. His eldest son, who became the 
fifth lord, and was the immediate predecessor of the poet, be- 
came engaged in a dispute with his cousin, Mr. Chaworth, 
which ended in the death of the latter. After this event all 
sorts of crimes were attributed to him — among others that 
he killed his coachman, and threw the dead body into the 
coach beside his wife, and that later he attempted to drown 
her. He is said to have had devils to attend him, and was 
called the " wicked lord." 

In order to spite his son, who had married against his will, 
this lord illegally sold the Rochdale property, and stripped 
Newstead as bare as possible. He, however, outlived his son 
and his grandson, and it was thus that the poet became the 
sixth lord. 



6 LORD BY BON. 

The brother of the "wicked lord" was Admiral Byron, 
known as " Foul Weather Jack," who married his cousin, she 
being of the "mad, impetuous race of the Berkeleys." 

Unfortunate in such an ancestry, the poet was even more so 
in his parentage and training. His father, the admiral's eldest 
son, was known as " Mad Jack," and, if history speaks truly, 
was not unworthy of his name. He seduced the Marchioness 
of Carmarthen, whom he afterward married and treated bru- 
tally. She died in 1784, leaving a daughter, Augusta, the 
sister who was the one faithful friend of the poet throughout 
his life. In 1786 Mad Jack married Catherine Gordon, whose 
father had committed suicide. She is described as " a dumpy 
young woman, with a large waist, florid complexion, and 
homely features." She was, besides, the victim of " frequent 
fits of uncontrollable fury." Add to this that she was coarse, 
and without the beginnings of an education, and the picture is 
complete. 

One day at school a companion of Byron exclaimed to 
him, — 

" Byron, your mother is a fool 1 " 

" I know it," was the reply. 

Byron's father diminished his wife's fortune to almost noth- 
ing, and after two years of separation came one day and 
begged of her a guinea. With this he went to France, where 
he died in August, 1791. Some doubts are to be entertained 
whether he did not die by his own hand. Byron was now 
three years old. 

His childhood was spent at Aberdeen with his mother, 
whose passionate fondness for her child alternated with blows 
and abuse. One day in a fit of passion she accosted the boy, 
who was lame because of a malformation of the heel tendon, 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 7 

as a " lame brat." AVith trembling lips, and eyes that flashed 
with the intensity of the wound, he replied, "I was born so, 
mother." 

This mother, however, as contradictory in nature as the 
poet ever proved to be, boasted of her democratic principles ; 
and it was from her that Byron received his early training to 
hate royalty, and to sympathize with the oppressed. 

What religious training he had is due to his nurse, who 
familiarized him with the Bible, and grounded him so strongly 
in Calvinism that its influence always remained with him. 

Byron entered the grammar school of Aberdeen in 1794, and 
is said to have distinguished himself by being constantly at 
the foot of the class. Instead of studying his lessons, he read 
books more to his taste ; and these he literally devoured, and 
seems to have digested. His reading of this period consisted 
of books of travel and descriptions of the East, and mythology. 
The effect of these is easily traced in his writings. 

Here at Aberdeen the boy had his first love experience, 
which was with his cousin, Mary Duff, who is described as a 
"charming hazel-eyed, brown-haired little girl," Here, too, 
he gained his love for the mountains, which he afterward said 
were " a feeling " to him. 

The title of lord, together with the estate of Newstead 
Abbey, descended to Byron in 1798. After going to the estate 
in the following year, he continued his studies under a tutor 
by the name of Rogers, but this lasted only for a short time ; 
for that year Mrs. Byron went to London, and Byron was 
sent to school at Dulwich. While here he slept in the library 
of the master, Dr. Glennie, and introduced himself to Englisli 
poetry, which had a lasting influence on his impressionable 
nature. 



8 LORD BYRON. 

At this period his second love experience came, and with 
another cousin, whom he described as " one of the most beau- 
tiful of evanescent beings. She looked as if she had been 
made out of a rainbow, all beauty and peace." "When this 
cousin died, shortly afterward, we discover the boy's feelings 
finding expression in verse. 

In 1801 he entered Harrow Grammar School, where he re- 
mained till the autumn of 1805. In 1803 he spent his summer 
vacation at Nottingham, where he made the acquaintance of 
another cousin, Mary Anne Chaworth, who was then a beauti- 
ful girl of eighteen, two years older than himself. She was 
already betrothed, but this did not prevent Byron from falling 
in love with her. She once made the remark, " Do you think 
I could care anything for that lame boy ? " The careless words 
came to the boy, who never forgot them. This passion for 
Mary was doubtless the deepest he had yet experienced, and 
has overflowed into many of his poems. In Childe Harold he 
says that he — 

" Had sighed to many, though he loved but one." 

In 1805 he went to Trinity College, Cambridge, and in the 
following year published his juvenile poems, and in 1807 the 
Hours of Idleness. Shortly afterward, when Byron was indul- 
ging himself on the occasion of his becoming of age, a bitter 
criticism of this book appeared in the Edinburgh Review; a 
criticism which the poet characterized as " a masterpiece of 
low wit, a tissue of scurrilous abuse." This article was the 
cause of the English Bards and Scotch Revieivers, which ap- 
peared a few days after Byron took his seat in the House of 
Lords. In this old scores were more than paid off. No living 
writer escaped the sting of his satire. 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 9 

At this time his financial affairs, which had never been in 
a strikingly good condition, became worse ; and to improve 
matters he borrowed funds of money-lenders at an exorbitant 
interest, and, with his friend Hobhouse and three servants, 
sailed for Spain, July 2, 1809, intending to visit India and 
Persia. Arriving at Lisbon, the party travelled overland on 
horseback to Cadiz. From Spain they sailed East, visiting 
Sardinia, Sicily, Malta, Albania, and Turkey ; and finally re- 
turned home after two years of pilgrimage. 

In the year following his return the first two cantos of 
Childe Harold appeared, and were so enthusiastically received 
that the well-known remark, " I woke one morning and found 
myself famous," was elicited from the poet. The first edition 
of five thousand copies was exhausted in three days, and two 
more editions followed. 

It was as if a whirlwind had broken loose. He was the main 
subject of conversation in all London. He was desired every- 
where, and even the objects of his stinging satire hastened to 
make his acquaintance. He was the lion of the clubs, balls, 
of London society in general, and of the women in particular. 
They fell in love with his " marble brow, his brown curly hair, 
his gray eyes shaded by long black lashes, his beautiful mobile 
mouth, with small white teeth, his fascinating chin, small 
shapely hands, rich musical voice, and irreproachable manners." 

At this time Byron's works began to appear in profusion. 
In May, 1813, The Giaour was published, and soon ran through 
five editions ; and it was while correcting the proof of one of 
these editions that the poet produced the Bride of Abijdos, 
which was written in the space of four nights. In less than 
a month six thousand copies were sold ; and then came The 
Corsair in the following February, ten thousand copies being 



10 LORD BYRON, 

sold on tlie day of publication. In the same year appeared 
the Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte, and Lara. 

Byron's marriage took place in the following January, ai.d 
appears to have been a very happy one for a time. He wrote 
to Moore, " My spouse and I agree to admiration." Soon, how- 
ever, the condition of the poet's finances began to make itself 
manifest in a very material way. Nine executions were made 
upon them for debt in as many months. Quarrels and com- 
promises entered the family. Lady Byron went to her father's 
for a visit ; and one day, two weeks later, Byron received the 
astonishing news that she had decided not to return. Although 
a goodly share of the blame is to be laid at his door, his wife 
was far from irreproachable in the matter. While Byron was 
harsh and cruel, she was unkind and irritating to an extreme. 
One day she sneeringly asked him when he was going to " leave 
off writing verses." The separation took place in February, 
1816. 

When this fact became public, Lord Byron's sentence was 
passed. He, who four years before had been received and 
idolized in all London, was now the object of as great hatred 
as he then had been of esteem. He was accused of all the 
faults he had ever committed, and of all that could be im- 
agined. He was talked about, whispered about, and lied about 
maliciously. " I was accused," he said, " of every monstrous 
vice by public rumor and private rancor. I felt that, if what 
was whispered and muttered was true, I was unfit for England ; 
if false, England was unfit for me." 

He left England in April never to return, and the first part 
of his wanderings are told in the third and fourth cantos of 
Childe Harold. He journeyed along the Rhine as far as Swit- 
zerland, and spent a good part of the summer about Lake 



nioanAPiiicAL sketch. 11 

Geneva, where he made the acquaii.tance of Shelley, and they 
together made a tour of the lake in a small boat. Here Byron 
produced the third canto of Childe Harold, The Prisoner of 
Chillon, parts of Man/red, and Prometheus. 

While in Switzerland, Byron tried to arrange a reconcilia- 
tion with his wife, but she refused to listen, and the feelings 
of love which he had up to this time entertained toward her 
were changed to bitterness ; although once afterward, while in 
Italy, he wrote a letter to her, asking for a reconciliation for 
the sake of their child, who was growing up in ignorance of 
her father ; but the letter was never sent. 

In October he crossed the Alps and went to Venice. In 
December he wrote to Moore, " Of Venice I shall say little ; 
it is a poetical place, and classical, to us, from Shakespeare 
and Otway. I have not yet sinned against it in verse, nor do 
I know that I shall do so ; have been tuneless since I crossed 
the Alps, and feeling as yet no renewal of the ' estro.' " It 
came, nevertheless ; and in Venice Byron wrote part of the 
fourth ca,nto of Childe Harold, the Ode on Venice, Beppo, 
Marino Faliero, The Two Foscari, Mazeppa, and parts of Don 
Juan. 

The poet's life in Venice was far from admirable. lie en- 
gaged in all sorts of debaucheries. There was another side, 
liowever. At this time his income from his writings was about 
S20,000 a year. A fourth of it was given away in charity. 
Many persons who regularly received his gifts did not know 
whence they came. In spite of his cynicism he was of a kind, 
sympathetic nature. 

While at Pisa, Byron received a letter from a clergyman, 
telling him that the latter's wife had prayed before her death 
for his conversion. The poet replied, " I would not exchange 



12 LORD BYRON. 

the prayer of this pure and virtuous being in my behalf for 
the united glory of Homer, Caesar, and Napoleon." 

Tiring of poetry, Byron now turned his attention to poli- 
tics; and he found here the opportunities which had been 
denied him at home. He entered the struggle for the freedom 
and the unification of Italy. Little, however, was to be ac- 
complished here ; and as the sale of Newstead and the pro- 
ceeds from half the estate of his mother-in-law, which fell 
to him, gave him the necessary money, he hired the brig Her- 
cules, and taking with him fifty thousand dollars, medicines, 
and arms, sailed for Greece, which was now in the midst of 
her struggle for freedom from Turkey. 

His career as a soldier was short, as he was stricken with a 
fever, and died the 19th of April, 1824, at Missolonghi ; but 
his liberality and great love of liberty endeared him to the 
hearts of the Greek people. When Byron died it was the 
midst of the Greek Eastertide. The Provisional Government 
at Missolonghi decreed : " Our festive day is turned into one 
of lamentation and mourning. Let all Easter festivities be 
suspended, and let funeral prayers be said in all the churches. 
Let the people cease to peal Paschal carols, and let them toll 
the dirge of the dead. Let all public offices be closed. The 
Greek nation goes into mourning for thirty-one days." 

The Greeks desired that he be buried in the Parthenon, or 
in the Temple of Theseus, but this was not to be ; and the 
mournful procession passed down to the quay, followed by the 
rugged Suliots, the tears streaming down their sun-browned 
cheeks. Not only did they follow, but the hearts of the 
Greek nation followed, the man who had come to them in 
their darkest hour and inspired them with hope. 

" One consolation remains to us," said the Hellenic Tele- 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 13 

graph ; " the good he has effected will not be lost ; the seed 
he has sown with such alacrity and industry for the benefit of 
Greece will yet produce a noble harvest. The most glorious 
monument that can be raised to him will be the feelings of 
gratitude and love which remain stamped in the heart of 
every Greek and every friend of humanity." 



HISTORICAL SKETCH OF CHILLON. 



One day in the year 830, in the reign of Louis the D6bo- 
naire, chroniclers tell us a company of armed men was slowly 
First Mention making its way along the rough and narrow 
of chiiion. road which wound along the foot of the moun- 
tains on the north shore of Lake Leman, leading from Vevey 
to Villeneuve. A prisoner of state was being conducted to a 
lonely tower which arose from the rock, now covered by the 
historic Chateau de Chillon. 

From the walls of this massive tower, all sides of which 
were washed by the blue waves of the lake, the prisoner could 
behold only " the sky, the Pennine Alps, and Lake Leman." 

From the care with which the cavalcade proceeded it was 
evident that the present prisoner was one of no little impor- 
tance. Jt was the Count of Wala, a nephew of 
Charles Martel and cousin of Charlemagne, a 
man who had governed Saxony, commanded armies of the 
empire, and, in the latter years of the great emperor, had 
been his chief counsellor. After Charlemagne's death things 
changed ; and such a man, of sterling integrity and devotion 
to the cause of liberty, was in the way of the intriguers of the 
Court. He was therefore relegated to this distant tower. 1 he 
peace and beauty of the surroundings were of such a n-iture 
that the old man, far from bemoaning his fate, refused even 
to apply for a release, at the solicitation of his friends, at a 

14 



HISTORICAL SKETCH OF CHILLON, 15 

time when there was little doubt of its being granted. He 
preferred to remain here, surrounded by the beauties of nature, 
and in freedom of his mind, rather than to accept any clem- 
ency at the hands of his oppressors, or to re-enter a world out 
of which freedom had gone. 

This " old massive tower " continued to be a sort of prison 
of state till the time of Peter of Savoy, toward the middle of 
the thirteenth century. 

Thomas I. of Savoy had eight sons, who were all intended 

for the church, with the exception of Amedee, the eldest, who 

was to succeed his father as Duke of Savoy. 

Peter of Savoy, ,11,.-, 

Among the rest Peter took orders, but did so 
only for the political influence it would give him. Upon the 
death of his father he exchanged his clerical garments for 
those more suited to his tastes and character. Shortly after- 
ward he married into the family of the powerful baron Aymon, 
who soon recognized the ability of his son-in-law, and declared 
him to be his successor. 

Once assured of this heritage, Peter demanded of his brother 
his share of the paternal estate, which he obtained after a trial 
of arms. He received Chablais and the Val d'Aost, which in- 
cluded the fertile valley of the Rhone, and a large tract along 
the shores of Leman. Thus it was that Peter came into pos- 
session of Chillon. 

The dukes of Savoy had already added extensively to the 
fortifications ; but it was left for Peter to see the natural ad- 
second buUd- vantages of the situation, and to transform the 
ing of chmon. prison into the chateau of future importance. 
The foundations were begun June 25, 1236, but we may be- 
lieve it was some time before the structure was completed, 
possibly two j'ears. 



16 LORD BTliON. 

The castle was then first used as a retreat for Peter's brother 
Aymon, whose health was rapidly failing. Says the Chroniquc. 
de Savoie : " Peter found his brother in very great extremity 
from disease, and then summoned physicians from all parts 
of the country, but all was of no avail. And when he saw 
himself reduced so low, Aymon said to his brothers, Peter 
and Aime, ' My lords and brothers, I hope it may please you 
to give me some solitary place where I may spend the re- 
mainder of my days, for the disturbances of the people annoy 
me grievously, and I desire to change air ; ' and then Mon- 
sieur Peter de Savoye responded to him and said, ' I have 
built a very fine castle at Chillon, and thither you shall re- 
treat.' " 

Peter also built other castles; but Chillon rapidly grew in 
importance, and not long after the death of his brother he 
made it the seat of his government, and it remained one of 
the important, perhaps the most important, with the exception 
of that of the Habsburgs, in Switzerland, until the time of 
Bonnivard; and here the dukes of Savoy lived and ruled till 
the im graceful exit of the tyrannous Charles III. 

Once when Peter had been away on a subjugating expedition 
he returned home by night, and found the enemy encamped 

Battle of by his very door. It was a company of the troops 

chiUon. Qf Rudolph of Habsburg, and it is possible that 
Rudolph himself was among them. Peter left his troops, and 
by stealth gained admission to the castle, from which he 
managed to get an idea of the condition of his enemies, who 
were scattered about in groups from Villeneuve to Vevey. 
He returned to his friends by boat, and said to them, " Let 
us be brave men, and the enemy are ours." The response 
was, "You have only to command." 



HISTORICAL SKETCn OF CIIILLON. 17 

Battle was given, and so successfully that nearly all of 
the Habsburgians were taken prisoners ; but instead of being 
treated as such they were taken to the chMeau and feasted. 
They were dismissed on the condition that they return home 
and cease henceforth to give trouble. 

Nothing of great importance in the history of Chillon oc- 
curred after the death of Peter till we come to the year 
1504, when Charles III. came to the ducal throne. By some 
irony of fate this tyrannous duke was called The 
Good — probably because he made a grant of 
land to the church. If history records truly, he was a second 
Nero, as Peter was the "Little Charlemagne." He was of 
a land-grabbing disposition, and did not scruple to remove 
whomsoever he found in his way. Thus it was that when 
he found the strongest opposition to his schema of bringing 
Geneva under his sway in Bonnivard, the latter was con- 
signed to the dungeon. 

The hero of The Prisoner of Chillon was a Savoyard by 
birth, but he had given himself unreservedly to the cause of 
Geneva in the struggle for her independence. He 
had studied philosophy and law at Turin, and had 
returned from that city a champion of democratic principles. 
He gave himself to reforms both in religion and politics, and 
continued to strive unceasingly for the freedom of his adopted 
country. 
His Imprison- Charles profited by his first opportunity, and 

ment. arrested the reformer at Montheron, canton of 

Vaud, and conducted him to the chateau of Grolee, where he 
remained prisoner for two years, when he was set at liberty 
by the intervention of his friends. 

This liberty, however, did not last long ; for he was soon 



18 LOBB BYBON. 

arrested again (in 15-30), and conducted to Cliillon, where he 
was held as a prisoner of state for six years. 

During these six years matters were gradually working to 
a crisis ; and when the crisis came, Bonnivard was freed. 

The Genevese never forgot Bonnivard, as Bonnivard never 
forgot Geneva; and at the earliest possible moment their at- 
tention was turned to his rescue. The Bernese, always stanch 
supporters of the oppressed, were invited to assist. They came 
down singing their ancient war-song. The Bear of Bern Has 
Left His Lair, while the Genevese attacked from the lake. The 
onset was made in the early morning. The previous evening 
Charles had escaped, giving orders, It; is claimed by some, that 
the prisoner be put to death. The lieutenant, however, feared 
for his own safety should the castle be taken, and awaited the 
outcome before obeying the command. 

Toward noon the chateau was surrendered ; and the patriots 
rushed to the dungeon, exclaiming, " Bonnivard, thou art 
free ! " — " And Geneva ? " was the response. " Free also." 

Bonnivard had no brothers who shared his captivity ; and, 
indeed, it is not known that he had any at all. There were, 
however, several prisoners in the dungeon with him at the 
time of his liberation. 

Upon his return to public life Bonnivard was made one of 
the Two Hundred of Geneva, and published a history of the 
city under the name of Chronicles of the City of 
Geneva, besides several other works of minor im- 
portance. He lived to a ripe old age, enjoying the fruits 
of his liberty, for which he had paid so dearly. He died in 
1570. 



HISTORICAL SKETCH OF CHILLON. 19 



THE POEM. 

Xearly three centuries after the imprisonment of Bonnivard, 
Byron, with his friend Ilobhouse, was living at Clarens. One 
Byron's Visit bright morning they directed their sail toward 
to chuion. Chillon. It was the same journey that the family 
of Julie made on the day of the catastrophe, in Rousseau's 
Nouvelle HUo'ise. This Byron had read, or was at this time 
reading ; and his mind was full of sad recollections, yet light- 
ened by the beauty of nature, which, he wrote to Murray, he 
never attempted to describe, because anything he could say 
appeared to him so below the impressions which he received. 

They landed at Chillon, and were conducted to the dun- 
geon, which was far from being the place Byron described it 
to be. It is architecturally the finest portion 
of the castle, and is certainly the most inter- 
esting from its associations. The series of chambers called 
the dungeons is cut partially out of the solid rock upon which 
the castle is built. It is of Gothic design, and, were it larger, 
would not be unlike the aisles of a cathedral of the period. 
In the next largest chamber there are four or five pillars of 
" Gothic mould ; " and in the largest there are eight, " one being 
half merged in the wall." In several of these pillars there 
are rings to which the prisoners were fettered. The tourist 
of to-day is shown the one to which Bonnivard was fastened, 
also the traces ^ which the feet of the prisoner made in the 
pavement during the six years of his confinement. In one 
of these vaults is a beam "black with age," on which the 

1 These imprints are now supposed to have heen made by monks, 
and this part of the story to have been invented by them to attract 
attention to the place. 



20 LOBD BYRON. 

execution of the condemned took place. The vaults are lofty, 
and receive air and light through numerous narrow apertures 
several feet above the pavement. 

When Byron entered here he was ignorant of the story of 
Bonnivard, and says Vulliemin, " He at first saw only the 
vaults which enclosed him, the shadows which spread about 
him, and death which seemed to inhabit the place. . . . lie 
saw Ugolino, ^ his sons, and their fearful death. He was en- 

1 The story of Ugolino Gherardesca was made famous by Dante in 
the Inferno. Ugolino for some treachery, supposed or real, was taken, 
with his two sons and two grandsons, and confined in the Palazzo 
del Comune, by leaders of the Ghibellines. After twenty days of con- 
finement they were removed to the Torre della Fame. By the order 
of the archbishop the door was locked and the key thrown into the 
Arno. Dante, in the Inferno, makes Ugolino recount his story as 
below. Resemblances may be found between it and passages of The 
Prisoner of Chillon : — 

" ' And I heard locked the exit underneath 
The horrible turret ; whereupon I looked 
In my sons' faces, saying not a word. 
I wept not, I so petrified within : 
They wept ; and said my Anselmuccio, ' Thou, 
Father, art looking so? How is 't with thee?' 
I shed no tear, however, nor replied 
The whole of that day, nor the after night, 
Till issued in the world the other sun. 
"When, as some little ray had got itself 
Into the painful dungeon, and I marked 
My selfsame aspect upon faces four, 
I bit for anguish into both my hands : 
And they, supposing I did that for need 
Of eating, of a sudden raised themselves, 
And said : " 'T will give us, father, much less pain 
If us thou eat'st of : thou induedst us 
This miserable fiesh, and doff it thou." 
I, not to make them sadder, stilled me then : 
That and the next day we remained all dumb; 



HISTORICAL SKETCH OF CHILLON. 21 

gaged in these thoughts while a drunken corporal, deaf, and 
thinking that all who listened were like himself, bellowed out 
the legend of the place. They mingled in the soul of the poet. 
To those of Bonnivard he added his own remembrances, his 
sorrows, his aspirations toward liberty, and under the inspira- 
tion of the moment, he formed the plan and composed a great 
part of the poem." 

Finally they returned to the open air. As he was leaving 
the castle, Byron met some children playing by the roadside ; 
he took from his pocket several half guineas and distributed to 
them. The two friends returned to Clarens on foot. 

Byron visited Chillon again before he left Switzerland, but 

it was on a rainy day shortly after his first visit that he fin- 

Compietion ished The Prisoner of Chillon. He had taken 

of boat for Lausanne, but on his arrival at Ouchy 

t e oem. j^ began to rain, and he stopped at the Hotel de 

VAncre; it was while detained there by the inclement weather 

that he completed the poem. 

Ah ! hardened earth, why openest thou not? 
When to the fourth day we were come, before 
My feet, distended, Gaddo threw himself, 
Saying, " My father, why not give me help ? " 
Herewith he died ; and, as thou seest me, 
I saw the three fall one by one, between 
The fifth day and the sixth : whereat I took, 
Already blind, to groping over each. 
And three days called them after they were dead. 
Then fasting more availed than sorrowing.'" 







U^ 1 


*^' 


l-'^WP 


■ 


■k 


II; 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON, 



My hair is gray, but not with years, 
Nor grew it white 
In a single night, 
As men's have grown from sudden fears : 
My limbs are bow'd, though not with toil, 5 

But rusted with a vile repose, 
For they have been a dungeon's spoil, 

And mine has been the fate of those 
To whom the goodly earth and air 
Are bann'd, and barr'd — forbidden fare ; 10 

But this was for my father's faith 
I suffer'd chains and courted death ; 
That father perish'd at the stake 
For tenets he would not forsake ; 
And for the same his lineal race 15 

In darkness found a dwelling-place , 
We were seven — who now are one. 

Six in youth, and one in age, 
Finish'd as they had begun, 

Proud of Persecution's rage ; 20 

One in fire, and two in field, 
23 



LOEB BYRON. 

Their belief with blood have seaPd ; 
Dying as their father died, 
For the God their foes denied ; 
Three were in a dungeon cast, 
Of whom this wreck is left the last. 

There are seven pillars of Gothic mould, 
In Chillon's dungeons deep and old, 
There are seven columns, massy and gray, 
Dim with a dull imprison'd ray, 
A sunbeam which hath lost its way. 
And through the crevice and the cleft 
Of the thick wall is fallen and left ; 
Creeping o'er the floor so damp. 
Like a marsh's meteor lamp : 
And in each pillar there is a ring, 

And in each ring there is a chain ; 
That iron is a cankering thing, 

For in these limbs its teeth remain, 
With marks that will not wear away, 
Till I have done with this new day, 
Which now is painful to these eyes, 
Which have not seen the sun to rise 
For years — I cannot count them o'er, 
I lost their long and heavy score 
When my last brother droop'd and died, 
And I lay living by his side. 

They chain'd us each to a column stone. 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 25 

And we were three — yet, each alone : 

We could not move a single pace, 50 

We could not see each other's face, 

But with that pale and livid light 

That made us strangers in our sight : 

And thus together — yet apart, 

Eetter'd in hand, but joined in heart, 55 

'Twas still some solace, in the dearth 

Of the pure elements of earth. 

To hearken to each other's speech. 

And each turn comforter to each 

With some new hope, or legend old, 60 

Or song heroically bold ; 

But even these at length grew cold. 

Our voices took a dreary tone. 

An echo of the dungeon-stone, 

A grating sound — not full and free ' 65 

As they of yore were wont to be : 

It might be fancy — but to me 
They never sounded like our own. 

I was the eldest of the three. 

And to uphold and cheer the rest 70 

I ought to do — and did — my best, 
And each did well in his degree. 

The youngest, whom my father loved, 
Because our mother's brow was given 
To him — with eyes as blue as heaven, 75 

For him my soul was sorely moved : 



26 LOBD BYRON. 

And truly might it be distress'd 
To see such bird in such a nest ; 
For he was beautiful as day — 

(When day was beautiful to me 80 

As to young eagles, being free) — 

A polar day, which will not see 
A sunset till its summer's gone, 

Its sleepless summer of long light, 
The snow-clad offspring of the sun ! 85 

And thus he was as pure and bright, 
And in his natural spirit gay. 
With tears for nought but others' ills, 
And then they flow'd like mountain rills, 
Unless he could assuage the woe 90 

Which he abhor r'd to view below. 

The other was as pure of mind. 

But form'd to combat with his kind 

Strong in his frame, and of a mood 

Which 'gainst the world in war had stood, 95 

And perish'd in the foremost rank 

With joy : — but not in chains to pine : 
His spirit wither'd with their clank, 

I saw it silently decline — 

And so perchance in sooth did mine ; 100 

But yet I forced it on to cheer 
Those relics of a home so dear. 
He was a hunter of the hills. 

Had folio w'd there the deer and wolf; 



THE PHI SON ER OF C BILLON. 27 

To him this dungeon was a gulf, io5 

And fettered feet the worst of ills. 

Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls : 
A thousand feet in depth below 
Its massy waters meet and flow ; 
Thus much the fathom-line was sent no 

From Chillon's snow-white battlement, 

Which round about the wave enthralls: 
A double dungeon wall and wave 
Have made — and like a living grave 
Below the surface of the lake 115 

The dark vault lies wherein we lay. 
We heard' it ripple night and day ; 

Sounding o'er our heads it knock'd ; 
And I have felt the winter's spray 
Wash through the bars when winds were high 120 
And wanton in the happy sky ; 

And then the very rock hath rock'd, 

And I have felt it shake, unshock'd, 
Because I could have smiled to see 
The death that would have set me free. 125 

I said my nearer brother pined, 

I said his mighty heart declined. 

He loathed and put away his food ; 

It was not that 'twas coarse and rude. 

For we were used to hunter's fare, 130 

And for the like had little care : 



28 LORD BYRON, 

The milk drawn from the mountain goat 

Was changed for water from the moat, 

Our bread was such as captives' tears 

Have moisten'd many a thousand years, isr. 

Since man first pent his fellow-men 

Like brutes within an iron den ; 

But what were these to us or him ? 

These wasted not his heart or limb ; 

My brother's, soul was of that mould 140 

Which in a palace had grown cold, 

Had his free breathing been denied 

The range of the steep mountain's side; 

But why delay the truth ? — he died. 

I saw, and could not hold his head, 145 

Nor reach his dying hand — nor dead — 

Though hard I strove, but strove in vain, 

To rend and gnash my bonds in twain. 

He died — and they unlock'd his chain. 

And scoop'd for him a shallow grave 150 

Even from the cold earth of our cave. 

I begg'd them, as a boon, to lay 

His corse in dust whereon the day 

Might shine — it was a foolish thought, 

But then within my brain it wrought, 155 

That even in, death his freeborn breast 

In such a dungeon could not rest. 

I might have spared my idle prayer — 

They coldly laugh'd — and laid him there : 

The flat and turfless earth above ibo 



THE PRISONER OF CUILLON. 29 

The being we so much did love ; 
His empty chain above it leant, 
Such murder's fitting monument ! 

But he, the favorite and the flower, 

Most cherished since his natal hour, ic5 

His mother's image in fair face, 

The infant love of all his race, 

His martyr'd father's dearest thought, 

My latest care, for whom I sought 

To hoard my life, that his might be i70 

Less wretched now, and one day free ; 

He, too, who yet had held untired 

A spirit natural or inspired — 

He, too, was struck, and day by day 

Was wither'd on the stalk away. 175 

Oh God ! it is a fearful thing 

To see the human soul take wing 

In any shape, in any mood ; 

I've seen it rushing forth in blood, 

I've seen it on the breaking ocean 18O 

Strive with a swoln convulsive motion, 

I've seen the sick and ghastly bed 

Of sin delirious with its dread : 

But these were horrors — this was woe 

Unmix'd with such — but sure and slow : iss 

He faded, and so calm and meek. 

So softly worn, so sweetly weak. 

So tearless, yet so tender — kind, 



80 LOBB BYRON. 

And grieved for those he left behind ; 

With all the while a cheek whose bloom loo 

Was as a mockery of the tomb, 

Whose tints as gently sunk away 

As a departing rainbow's ray, 

An eye of most transparent light, 

That almost made the dungeon bright, 195 

And not a word of murmur -^ not 

A groan o'er his untimely lot, — 

A little talk of better days, 

A little hope my own to raise, 

For I was sunk in silence — lost 200 

In this last loss, of all the most ; 

And then the sighs he would suppress 

Of fainting nature's feebleness. 

More slowly drawn, grew less and less, 

I listen'd, but I could not hear — 205 

I call'd, for I was wild with fear ; 

I knew 'twas hopeless, but my dread 

Would not be thus admonished ; 

I call'd and thought I heard a sound — 

I burst my chain with one strong bound, 310 

And rush'd to him : — I found him not, 

/ only stirred in this black spot, 

/ only lived — / only drew 

The accursed breath of dungeon-dew ; 

The last — the sole — the dearest link sis 

Between me and the eternal brink, 

Which bound me to my failing race. 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 31 

Was broken in this fatal place. 

One on the earth, and one beneath — 

My brothers — both hath ceased to breathe : 220 

I took that hand which lay so still, 

Alas ! my own was full as chill ; 

I had not strength to stir, or strive. 

But felt that I was still alive — 

A frantic feeling, when we know 225 

That what we love shall ne'er be so. 

I know not why 

I could not die, 
I had no earthly hope but faith, 
And that forbade a selfish death. 23G 

What next befell me then and there 
I know not well — I never knew — 

First came the loss of light, and air. 
And then of darkness too : 

I had no thought, no feeling — none — 235 

Among the stones I stood a stone, 

And was, scarce conscious what I wist. 

As shrubless crags within the mist ; 

For all was blank, and bleak, and gray ; 

It was not night — it was not day ; 240 

It was not even the dungeon-light, 

So hateful to my heavy sight. 

But vacancy absorbing space. 

And fixedness — without a place : 

There were no stars — no earth — no time — 245 



32 LORD BYRON. 

No check — no change — no good — no crime — 

But silence, and a stirless breath 

Which neither was of life nor death ; 

A sea of stagnant idleness, 

Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless ! 250 

A light broke in upon my brain, — 

It was the carol of a bird ; 
It ceased, and then it came again. 

The sweetest song ear ever heard. 
And mine was thankful till my eyes 255 

Kan over with the glad surprise, 
And they that moment could not see 
I was the mate of misery ; 
But then by dull degrees came back 
My senses to their wonted track ; 260 

I saw the dungeon walls and floor 
Close slowly round me as before, 
I saw the glimmer of the sun 
Creeping as it before had done. 
But through the crevice where it came 265 

That bird was perchM, as fond and tame, 

And tamer than upon the tree ; 
A lovely bird with azure wings. 
And song that said a thousand things. 

And seem'd to say them all for me ! 270 

I never saw its like before, 
I ne'er shall see its likeness more : 
It seem'd like me to want a mate, 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 33 

But was not half so desolate, 

And it was come to love me when 27s 

None lived to love me so again, 

And cheering from my dungeon's brink. 

Had brought me back to feel and think. 

I know not if it late were free, 

Or broke its cage to perch on mine, 280 

But knowing well captivity, 

Sweet bird ! I could not wish for thine ! 
Or if it were, in winged guise, 
A visitant from Paradise ; 

For — Heaven forgive that thought ! the while 285 
Which made me both to weep and smile j 
I sometimes deem'd that it might be 
My brother's soul come down to me ; 
But then at last away it flew. 
And then 'twas mortal well I knew, 290 

For he would never thus have flown. 
And left me twice so doubly lone, — 
Lone — as the corse within its shroud, 
Lone — as a solitary cloud, 

A single cloud on a sunny day, 295 

While all the rest of heaven is clear, 
A frown upon the atmosphere, 
That hath no business to appear 

When skies are blue, and earth is gay. 

A kind of change came in my fate, 300 

My keepers grew compassionate ; 



LORD BYRON. 

I know not what had made them so, 

They were inured to sights of woe, 

But so it was : — my broken chain 

With links unfasten'd did remain, soc 

And it was liberty to stride 

Along my cell from side to side. 

And up and down, and then athwart. 

And tread it over every part ; 

And round the pillars one by one, 310 

Keturning where my walk begun, 

Avoiding only, as I trod, 

My brothers' graves without a sod ; 

For if I thought with heedless tread. 

My step profaned their lowly bed, 315 

My breath came gaspingly and thick. 

And my crush'd heart felt blind and sick. 

I made a footing in the wall. 

It was not therefrom to escape. 
For I had buried one and all 320 

Who loved me in a human shape ; 
And the whole earth would henceforth be 
A wider prison unto me : 
No child — no sire — no kin had I, 
No partner in my misery ; 325 

I thought of this, and I was glad. 
For thought of them had made me mad ; 
But I was curious to ascend 
To my barr'd windows, and to bend 



TUB PRISONER OF CTIILLON, 35 

Once more, upon the mountains high, z^'\ 

The quiet of a loving eye. 

I saw them — and they were the same, 

They were not changed like me in frame j 

I saw their thousand years of snow 

On high — their wide long lake below, 335 

And the blue Khone in fullest flow ; 

I heard the torrents leap and gush 

O'er channell'd rock and broken bush ; 

I saw the white-wall'd distant town. 

And whiter sails go skimming down ; 340 

And then there was a little isle, 

Which in my very face did smile. 

The only one in view ; 
A small green isle, it seem'd no more. 
Scarce broader than my dungeon floor, 345 

But in it there were three tall trees, 
And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, 
And by it there were waters flowing, 
And on it there were young flowers growing. 

Of gentle breath and hue. 350 

The fish swam by the castle wall, 
And they seem'd joyous each and all ; 
The eagle rode the rising blast, 
Methought he never flew so fast 
As then to me he seem'd to fly, 355 

And then new tears came in my eye. 
And I felt troubled — and would fain 



LOEl) BYRON, 

I had not left my recent chain ; 

And when I did descend again, 

The darkness of my dim abode 3co 

Fell on me as a heavy load ; 

It was as is a new-dug grave, 

Closing o'er one we sought to save, — 

And yet my glance, too much oppress'd, 

Had almost need of such a rest. 365 

It might be months, or years, or days, 

I kept no count — I took no note, 
I had no hope my eyes to raise, 

And clear them of their dreary mote ; 
At last men came to set me free, 370 

I ask'd not why, and reck'd not where, 
It was at length the same to me, 
Fetter'd or fetterless to be, 

I learn'd to love despair. 
And thus when they appeared at last, 375 

And all my bonds aside were cast. 
These heavy walls to me had grown 
A hermitage — and all my own ! 
And half I felt as they were come 
To tear me from a second home : 380 

With spiders I had friendship made. 
And watched them in their sullen trade. 
Had seen the mice by moonlight play. 
And why should I feel less than they ? 
We were all inmates of one place, 385 

And I, the monarch of each race, 



THE PRISON Eli OF CUILLON. 37 

Had power to kill — yet, strange to tell ! 

In quiet we had learn'd to dwell — 

My very chains and I grew friends, 

So much a long communion tends 390 

To make us what we are : — . even I 

Regained my freedom with a sigh. 



38 LOBB BYBON. 



SPAIN. 



Oh, lovely Spain ! renowned, romantic land ! 
Where is that standard which Pelagio bore, 
When Cava's traitor-sire first called the band 
That dyed thy mountain streams with Gothic gore ? 
Where are those bloody banners which of yore 5 
Waved o'er thy sons, victorious to the gale, 
And drove at last the spoilers to their shore ? 
Eed gleamed the cross, and waned the crescent pale, 
While Afric's echoes thrilled with Moorish matrons' wail. 



Teems not each ditty with the glorious tale ! 10 

Ah ! such, alas ! the hero's amplest fate ! 
When granite moulders and when records fail, 
A peasant's plaint prolongs his dubious date. 
Pride ! bend thine eye from heaven to thine estate. 
See how the Mighty shrink into a song ! 15 

Can Volume, Pillar, Pile preserve thee great ? 
Or must thou trust tradition's simple tongue, 
When Flattery sleeps with thee, and History does thee 
wrong ? 



SPAIN. 39 

Awake, ye sons of Spain ! awake ! advance ! 
Lo ! Chivalry, your ancient goddess, cries, 20 

But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance, 
Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies : 
Now on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies. 
And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar : 
In every peal she calls — " Awake ! arise ! " 25 

Say, is her voice more feeble than of yore, 
When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's shore ? 

Hark ! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note ? 
Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath ? 
Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote, 30 

Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath 
Tyrants and tyrants' slaves ? — the fires of death. 
The bale-fires flash on high : — from rock to rock 
Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe ; 
Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, 35 

Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock. 



40 LORD BYRON, 



SOLITUDE. 



To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fellj 
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, 
Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, 
And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; 
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, 5 

With the wild flock that never needs a fold : 
Alone o'er steeps and gaming falls to lean ; 
This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold 
Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores un- 
roll'd. 

But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, lo 
To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess. 
And roam along, the world's tired denizen, 
With none who bless us, none whom we can bless ; 
Minions of splendor shrinking from distress ! 
None that, with kindred consciousness endued, 15 
If we were not, would seem to smile the less 
Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought, and sued ; 
This is to be alone ; this, this is solitude. 



LEUCABIA, 41 



LEUCADIA. 



Childe Harold sailed, and passed the barren spot, 
Where sad Penelope o'erlooked the wave ; 
And onward viewed the mount, not yet forgot, 
The lover's refuge, and the Lesbian's grave. 
Dark Sappho ! could not verse immortal save 5 

That breast imbued with such immortal fire ? 
Could she not live who life eternal gave ? 
If life eternal may await the lyre, 
That only Heaven to which Earth's children may aspire. 



'Twas on a Grecian autumn's gentle eve 10 

Childe Harold hailed Leucadia's cape afar ; 
A spot he longed to see, nor cared to leave : 
Oft did he mark the scenes of vanished war, 
Actium, Lepanto, fatal Trafalgar; 
Mark them unmoved, for he would not delight 15 
(Born beneath some remote inglorious star) 
In themes of bloody fray, or gallant fight. 
But loathed the bravo's trade, and laughed at martial 
wig:ht. 



42 LORD BYRON. 

But when he saw the evening star above 
Leucadia's far-projecting rock of woe, 20 

And hailed the last resort of fruitless love, 
He felt, or deemed he felt, no common glow : 
And as the stately vessel glided slow 
Beneath the shadow of that ancient mount, 
He watched the billows' melancholy flow, 25 

And, sunk albeit in thought as he was wont. 
More placid seemed his eye, and smooth his pallid front. 



GREECE. 43 



GREECE. 



Fair Greece ! sad relic of departed worth ! 
Immortal, though no more ; though fallen, great ! 
Who now shall lead thy scatter'd children forth, 
And long accustom'd bondage uncreate ? 
Not such thy sons who whilome did await, 5 

The hopeless warriors of a willing doom. 
In bleak Thermopylae's sepulchral strait — 
Oh ! who that gallant spirit shall resume. 
Leap from Eurotas' banks, and call thee from the tomb ? 



Spirit of freedom ! when on Phyle's brow lo 

Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train, 
Couldst thou forbode the dismal hour which now 
Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain ? 
Not thirty tyrants now enforce the chain. 
But every carle can lord it o'er thy land ; 15 

Nor rise thy sons, but idly rail in vain. 
Trembling beneath the scourge of Turkish hand. 
From birth till death enslaved; in word, in deed, un- 
manned. 



44 LOUD BYRON. 

In all save form alone, how changed ! and who 
That marks the fire still sparkling in each eye, 20 
Who but would deem their bosoms burn'd anew 
With thy unquenched beam, lost Liberty ! 
And many dream withal the hour is nigh 
That gives them back their fathers' heritage : 
For foreign arms and aid they fondly sigh, 25 

Nor solely dare encounter hostile rage, 
Or tear their name defiled from Slavery's mournful page. 

Hereditary bondsmen ! know ye not 
Who would be free themselves must strike the blow ? 
By their right arms the conquest must be wrought ? 
Will Gaul or Muscovite redress ye ? no ! 31 

True, they may lay your proud despoilers low, 
But not for you will Freedom's altars flame. 
Shades of the Helots ! triumph o'er your foe ! 
Greece ! change thy lords, thy state is still the same ; 
Thy glorious day is o'er, but not thine years of shame. 36 

The city won for Allah from the Giaour, 
The Giaour from Othman's race again may wrest ; 
And the Serai's impenetrable tower 
Receive the fiery Frank, her former guest; 40 

Or Wahab's rebel brood who dared divest 
The prophet's tomb of all its pious spoil. 
May wind their path of blood along the West ; 
But ne'er will freedom seek this fated soil, 
But slave succeed to slave through years of endless toil. 



GREECE. 45 

When risetli Lacedsemon^s hardihood, 46 

When Thebes Epaminondas rears again, 
AVhen Athens' children are with hearts endued, 
When Grecian mothers shall give birth to men, 
Then may'st thou be restored ; but not till then ! do 
A thousand years scarce serve to form a state ; 
An hour may lay it in the dust : and when 
Can man its shattered splendor renovate, 
Kecall its virtues back, and vanquish Time and Fate ? 

And yet how lovely in thine age of woe, 55 

Land of lost gods and godlike men ! art thou ! 
Thy vales of evergreen, thy hills of snow. 
Proclaim thee Nature's varied favorite now ; 
Thy fanes, thy temples to thy surface bow, 
Commingling slowly with heroic earth, 60 

Broke by the share of every rustic plough : 
So perish monuments of mortal birth, 
So perish all in turn, save well-recorded Worth ; 

Save where some solitary column mourns 
Above its prostrate brethren of the cave ; 65 

Save where Tritonia's airy shrine adorns 
Colonna's cliff, and gleams along the wave ; 
Save o'er some warrior's half -for gotten grave. 
Where the gray stones and unmolested grass 
Ages, but not oblivion, feebly brave, 70 

While strangers only not regardless pass. 
Lingering like me, perchance, to gaze, and sigh " Alas ! " 



46 LORD BYBOJSr. 

Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild ; 
Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields, 
Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled, 75 

And still his honied wealth Hymettus yields; 
There the blithe bee his fragrant fortress builds, 
The f reeborn wanderer of thy mountain-air ; 
Apollo still thy long, long summer gilds, 
Still in his beam Mendeli's marbles glare ; so 

Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but Nature still is fair. 

Where'er we tread 'tis haunted, holy ground, 
No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould. 
But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, 
And all the Muse's tales seem truly told, 85 

Till the sense aches with gazing to behold 
The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon : 
Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold 
Defies the power which crush'd thy temples gone : 
Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon. 90 



LEAVING ENGLAND THE LAST TIME. 47 



LEAVING ENGLAND THE LAST TIME. 



Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child ! ■ 
Ada ! sole daughter of my house and heart ? 
When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled, 
And then we parted, — not as now we part, 
But with a hope. — 

Awaking with a start, 5 

The waters heave around me ; and on high 
The winds lift up their voices : I depart. 
Whither I know not ; but the hour's gone by. 
When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad 
mine eye. 

Once more upon the waters ! yet once more ! lo 

And the waves bound beneath me as a steed 
That knows his rider. Welcome to the roar ! 
Swift be their guidance, wheresoever it lead ! 
Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed, 
And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale, 15 
Still must I on ; for I am as a weed, 
Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail 
Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath 
prevail. 



48 LORD BYRON. 



WATEELOO. 



There was a sound of revelry by night, 
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then 
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright 
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ; 
A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when 5 

Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again. 
And all went merry as a marriage-bell ; 
But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell! 

Did ye not hear it ? — Ko ; 'twas but the wind, 10 
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street ; 
On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ; 
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet 
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet — 
But, hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more. 
As if the clouds its echo would repeat ; 16 

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! 
Arm ! Arm ! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar ! 

Within a window'd niche of that high hall 

Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he did hear 20 



WATERLOO. 49 

That sound the first amidst the festival, 
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear; 
And when they smiled because he deem'd it near, 
His heart more truly knew that peal too well 
Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier, 25 

And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell : 
He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. 

Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 30 

Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness ; 
And there were sudden partings, such as press 
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
Which ne'er might be repeated ; who could guess 
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, 35 

Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise ! 

And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed, 
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car. 
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, 
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ; 40 

And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ; 
And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star ; 
While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, 
r whispering, with white lips — " The foe ! they come ! 
they come I " 45 



[)0 LOUD BYRON. 

And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" rose! 
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills 
Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes ; — 
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, 
Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which fills 
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers 51 
With the fierce native daring which instils 
The stirring memory of a thousand years. 
And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears! 

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, 65 
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass. 
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves. 
Over the unreturning brave, — alas ! 
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass 
"Which now beneath them, but above shall grow eo 
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass 
Of living valor, rolling on the foe 
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. 

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life. 
Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, 65 

The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife. 
The morn the marshalling in arms, — the day 
Battle's magnificently-stern array ! 
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent 
The earth is cover'd thick with other clay, 70 

Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent. 
Eider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent ! 



THE JDliACUENFELS, 61 



THE DKACHEKFELS. 



The castled crag of Drachenfels 

Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, 

Whose breast of waters broadly swells 

Between the banks which bear the vine, 

And hills all rich with blossom'd trees ; 6 

And fields which promise corn and wine. 

And scattered cities crowning these, 

Whose far white walls along them shine. 

Have strew'd a scene, which I should see 

With double joy wert thou with me. lo 

And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes, 

And hands which offer early flowers. 

Walk smiling o'er this paradise ; 

Above, the frequent feudal towers 

Through green leaves lift their walls of gray, i5 

And many a rock which steeply lowers. 

And noble arch in proud decay, 

Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers ; 

But one thing want these banks of Khine, — 

Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine ! 20 



52 LOp.D BY BON. 

I send the lilies given to me ; 

Though long before thy hand they touch, 

I know that they must wither'd be, 

But yet reject them not as such ; 

For I have cherish'd them as dear, 26 

Because they yet may meet thine eye, 

And guide thy soul to mine even here. 

When thou behold'st them drooping nigh, 

And know'st them gather'd by the E,hine, 

And offer'd from my heart to thine ! so 

The river nobly foams and flows. 

The charm of this enchanted ground, 

And all its thousand turns disclose 

Some fresher beauty varying round : 

The haughtiest breast its wish might bound ; 35 

Through life to dwell delighted here ; 

Nor could on earth a spot be found 

To nature and to me so dear. 

Could thy dear eyes in following mine 

Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine I 40 



LAKE LEMAN, 53 



LAKE LEMAN. 



Lake Leman woos me with its crystal face, 
The mirror where the stars and mountains view 
The stillness of their aspect in each trace 
Its clear depth yields of their far height and hue. 
There is too much of man here, to look through 5 
With a fit mind the might which I behold ; 
But soon in me shall loneliness renew 
Thoughts hid, but not less cherished than of old, 
Ere mingling with the herd had penned me in their 
fold. 

To fly from need not be to hate mankind, 10 

All are not fit with them to stir and toil, 
Kor is it discontent to keep the mind 
Deep in its fountain, lest it overboil 
In the hot throng, where we become the spoil 
Of our infection, till too late and long 15 

We may deplore and struggle with the coil. 
In wretched interchange of wrong for wrong 
Midst a contentious world, striving where none are 
strong. 



54 LORD BYRON. 

There, in a moment, we may plunge our years 
In fatal penitence, and in the blight 20 

Of our own soul turn all our blood to tears, 
And color things to come with hues of night ; 
The race of life becomes a hopeless flight 
To those that walk in darkness : on the sea, 
The boldest steer but where their ports invite, 25 
But there are wanderers o'er Eternity 
Whose bark drives on and on, and anchored ne'er shall 
be. 

Is it not better, then, to be alone, 
And love Earth only for its earthly sake ? 
By the blue rushing of the arrowy Khone, 30 

Or the pure bosom of its nursing lake, 
Which feeds it as a mother who doth make 
A fair but f roward infant her own care, 
Kissing its cries away as these awake, — 
Is it not better thus our lives to wear, 35 

Than join the crushing crowd, doomed to inflict or bear ? 

I live not in myself, but I become 
Portion of that around me ; and to me 
High mountains are a feeling, but the hum 
Of human cities torture ; I can see 40 

Nothing to loathe in nature, save to be 
A link reluctant in a fleshly chain. 
Classed among creatures, when the soul can flee, 
And with the sky, the peak, the heaving plain 
Of ocean, or the stars, mingle, and not in vain. 45 



LAKE LEMAN. 55 

And thus I am absorbed, and this is life : 
I look upon the peopled desert past, 
As on a place of agony and strife, 
Where for some sin to sorrow I was cast, 
To act and suffer, but remount at last 50 

With a fresh pinion ; which I feel to spring. 
Though young, yet waxing vigorous as the blast 
Which it would cope with, on delighted wing. 
Spurning the clay-cold bonds which round our being cling. 

And when at length, the mind shall be all free 55 
From what it hates in this degraded form, 
Reft of its carnal life, save what shall be 
Existent happier in the fly and worm, — 
When elements to elements conform. 
And dust is as it should be, shall I not 60 

Feel all I see, less dazzling, but more warm ? 
The bodiless thought, the Spirit of each spot. 
Of which, even now, I share at times the immortal lot ? 

Are not the mountains, waves, and skies a part 
Of me and of my soul, as I of them ? g5 

Is not the love of these deep in my heart 
With a pure passion ? should I not contemn 
All objects, if compared with these ? and stem 
A tide of suffering, rather than forego 
Such feelings for the hard and worldly phlegm 70 
Of those whose eyes are only turned below 
Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts which dare not 
glow ? 



56 LORD BYRON. 

Clear, placid Leman ! thy contrasted lake, 
With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing 
Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake 75 
Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. 
This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
To waft me from distraction ; once I loved 
Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring 
Sounds sweet as if a Sister's voice reproved, so 

That I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved. 

It is the hush of night, and all between 
Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, 
Mellowed and mingling, yet distinctly seen. 
Save darken'd Jura, whose capt heights appear 85 
Precipitously steep ; and drawing near, 
There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, 
Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear 
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar. 
Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more j 90 

He is an evening reveller, who makes 
His life an infancy, and sings his fill ; 
At intervals, some bird from out the brakes 
Starts into voice a moment, then is still. 
There seems a floating whisper on the hill, 95 

But that is fancy, for the starlight dews 
All silently their tears of love instil. 
Weeping themselves away, till they infuse 
Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues. 99 



LAKE LEMAN. 57 

Thy sky is changed ! — and such a change ! Oh night, 
N And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, 
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, 
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among 
Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud, los 
But every mountain now hath found a tongue. 
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud. 
Lack to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ! 

And this is in the night : — Most glorious night ! 
Thou wert not sent for slumber ! let me be no 

A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, 
A portion of the tempest and of thee ! 
How the lit lake shines, a phosophoric sea, 
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! 
And now again 'tis black, — and now, the glee 115 
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth. 
As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. 

Now where the swift Ehone cleaves his way between 
Heights which appear as lovers who have parted 
In hate, whose mining depths so intervene, 120 

That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted ! 
Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted, 
Love was the very root of the fond rage 
Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed : 
Itself expired, but leaving them an age 125 

Of years all winters, — war within themselves to wage. 



58 LORD BYRON. 

Now, where the quick Ehone thus hath cleft his way, 
The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his stand : 
For here, not one, but many make their play. 
And fling their thunder-bolts from hand to hand, iso 
Flashing and cast around : of all the band. 
The brightest through these parted hills hath fork'd 
His lightnings, — as if he did understand. 
That in such gaps as desolation work'd, 134 

There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurk'd. 

Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightning ! ye ! 
AVith night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul 
To make these felt and feeling, well may be 
Things that have made me watchful ; the far roll 
Of your departing voices, is the knoll 140 

Of what in me is sleepless, — if I rest. 
But where of ye, oh tempests ! is the goal ? 
Are ye like those within the human breast ? 
Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest ? 



CLARENS. 59 



CLARENS. 



Clarens ! sweet Clarens, birthplace of deep love ! 
Thine air is the young breath of passionate thought ; 
Thy trees take root in Love ; the snows above 
The very Glaciers have his colors caught, 
And sunset into rose-hues sees them wrought 5 

By rays which sleep there lovingly : the rocks, 
The permanent crags, tell here of Love, who sought 
In them a refuge from the worldly shocks. 
Which stir and sting the soul with hope that woos, then 
mocks. 

Clarens ! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod, — lo 
Undying Love's who here ascends a throne 
To which the steps are mountains ; where the god 
Is a pervading life and light, — so shown 
Not on those summits solely, nor alone 
In the still cave and forest ; o'er the flower 15 

His eye is sparkling, and his breath hath blown, 
His soft and summer breath, whose tender power 
Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate 
hour. 



60 LOBD BYRON. 

All things are here of him; from the black pines, 
Which are his shade on high, and the loud roar 20 
Of torrents, where he listeneth, to the vines 
Which slope his green path downward to the shore, 
Where the bow'd waters meet him, and adore, 
Kissing his feet with murmurs ; and the wood. 
The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar, 25 

But light leaves, young as joy, stands where it stood, 
Offering to him, and his, a populous solitude. 

A populous solitude of bees and birds, 
And fairy-form'd and many-color'd things, 
Who worship him with notes more sweet than words. 
And innocently open their glad wings, 31 

Fearless and full of life : the gush of springs, 
And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend 
Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings 
The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend, 35 

Mingling, and made by Love, unto one mighty end. 

He who hath loved not, here would learn that lore. 
And make his heart a spirit ; he who knows 
That tender mystery, will love the more. 
For this is Love's recess, where vain men's woes, 40 
And the world's waste, have driven him far from those, 
For 'tis his nature to advance or die ; 
He stands not still, but or decays, or grows 
Into a boundless blessing, which may vie 
With the immortal lights, in its eternity. 45 



CLABENS. 61 

'Twas not for fiction chose Eousseau this spot, 
Peopling it with affections ; but he found ' 
It was the scene which passion must allot 
To the mind's purified beings ; 't was the ground 
Where early Love his Psyche's zone unboundj go 
And hallow'd it with loveliness : 'tis lone, 
And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound. 
And sense, and sight of sweetness ; here the Rhone 
Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps have rear'd a 
throne. 



62 LOBD BYBON. 



VENICE. 



I STOOD in Venice, on tlie Bridge of Sighs ; 
A palace and a prison on each hand : 
I saw from out the wave her structures rise 
As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand : 
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand 5 

Around me, and a dying Glory smiles 
O'er the far times, when many a subject land 
Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles, 
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles ! 

She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean, 10 

Rising with her tiara of proud towers 
At airy distance^ with majestic motion, 
A ruler of the waters and their powers : 
And such she was ; — her daughters had their dowers 
From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East 15 
Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers. 
In purple was she robed, and of her feast 
Monarchs partook, and deem'd their dignity increased. 

In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more. 

And silent rows the songless gondolier ; 20 



VENICE. 63 

Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, 
And music meets not always now the ear : 
Those days are gone — but Beauty still is here. 
States fall^ arts fade — but Nature doth not die, 
Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear, 25 

The pleasant place of all festivity, 
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy ! 

But unto us she hath a spell beyond 
Her name in story, and her long array 
Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond 30 
Above the dogeless city's vanish'd sway ; 
Ours is a trophy which will not decay 
With the Eialto ; Shylock and the Moor, 
And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away — 
The keystones of the arch ! though all were o'er 35 
For us repeopled were the solitary shore. 

The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord ; 
And, annual marriage now no more renew'd, 
The Bucentaur lies rotting unrestored. 
Neglected garment of her widowhood ! 40 

St. Mark yet sees his lion where he stood, 
Stand, but in mockery of his wither'd power. 
Over the proud Place where an Emperor sued. 
And monarchs gazed and envied in the hour 
When Venice was a queen with an unequall'd dower. 45 

I loved her from my boyhood — she to me 
Was as a fairy city of the heart. 



64 LORD BYIiOy. 

Kising like water-columns from the sea, 
Of joy the sojourn, and of wealth the mart; 
And Otway, E-adcliffe, Schiller, Shakespeare's art, 50 
Had stamp'd her image in me, and even so, 
Although I found her thus, we did not part. 
Perchance even dearer in her day of woe. 
Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and a show. 



THE OCEAN, 65 



THE OCEAK 



There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 
There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 
There is society, where none intrudes, 
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar. 
I love not man the less, but Nature more, 5 

From these our interviews, in which I steal 
From all I may be, or have been before. 
To mingle with the Universe, and feel 
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. 

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll ! lo 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 
Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 
Stops with the shore ; — upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, 15 

When, for a moment, like a drop of rain. 
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan. 
Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown. 

His steps are not upon thy paths, — thy fields 
Are not a spoil for him, — thou dost arise 20 



66 LOUD BYRON. 

And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields 
For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, 
Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, 
And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray 
And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies 25 

His petty hope in some near port or bay, 
And dashest him again to earth : — there let him lay. 

The armaments which thunders trike the walls 
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake. 
And monarchs tremble in their capitals, 30 

The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
' Their clay creator the vain title take 
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war ; 
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake. 
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 35 
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. 

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee — 
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they ? 
Thy waters washed them power while they were free, 
And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey 40 

The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay 
Has dried up realms to deserts : — not so thou, 
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play — 
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow — 
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 45 

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, 



THE OCEAN. 67 

Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm, 
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
Dark-heaving ; — boundless, endless, and sublime — • 
The image of Eternity — the throne 51 

Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime 
The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone 
Obeys thee ; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. 

And I have loved thee. Ocean ! and my joy 65 

Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 
Borne, like thy bubbles onward : from a boy 
I wantoned with thy breakers — they to me 
Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea 
Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear, 60 

For I was as it were a child of thee. 
And trusted to thy billows far and near. 
And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here. 



68 LORD BYRON. 



A GEECIAN SUNSET. 



Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, 
Along Morea's hills the setting sun ; 
Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, 
But one unclouded blaze of living light ; 
O'er the hush'd deep the yellow beam he throws, 6 
Gilds the green wave that trembles as it glows j 
On old ^gina's rock and Hydra's isle 
The god of gladness sheds his parting smile; 
O'er his own regions lingering loves to shine. 
Though there his altars are no more divine. lo 

Descending fast, the mountain-shadows kiss 
Thy glorious gulf, unconquer'd Salamis ! 
Their azure arches through the long expanse, 
More deeply purpled, meet his mellowing glance. 
And tenderest tints, along their summits driven, is 
Mark his gay course, and own the hues of heaven ; 
Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep, 
Behind his Delphian rock he sinks to sleep. 

On such an eve his palest beam he cast 
When, Athens ! here thy wisest look'd his last. 20 



A GRECIAN SUNSET. 69 

How watch'd thy better sons liis farewell ray, 

That closed their murder'd sage's latest day ! 

Not yet — not yet — Sol pauses on the hill, 

The precious hour of parting lingers still ; 

But sad his light to agonizing eyes, 25 

And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes ; 

Gloom o'er the lovely land he seem'd to pour, 

The land where Phoebus never frown'd before ; 

But e'er he sunk below Citheron's head. 

The cup of woe was quaff'd — the spirit fled ; 30 

The soul of him that scorn'd to fear or fly. 

Who lived and died as none can live or die. 

But, lo ! from high Hymettus to the plain 
The queen of night asserts her silent reign ; 
No murky vapor, herald of the storm, 35 

Hides her fair face, or girds her glowing form. 
With cornice glimmering as the moonbeams play, 
There the white column greets her grateful ray, 
And bright around, with quivering beams beset, 
Her emblem sparkles o'er the minaret ; 4o 

The groves of olive scatter'd dark and wide. 
Where meek Cephisus sheds his scanty tide, 
The cypress saddening by the sacred mosque, 
The gleaming turret of the gay kiosk. 
And sad and sombre mid the holy calm, 45 

Near Theseus' fane, yon solitary palm ; 
All, tinged with varied hues, arrest the eye ; 
And dull were his that pass'd them heedless by, 



70 LORD BYRON. 

Again the ^gean, heard no more afar, 
Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war ; co 

Again his waves in milder tints unfold 
Their long expanse of sapphire and of gold, 
Mix'd with the shades of many a distant isle. 
That frown, where gentler ocean deigns to smile. 



GREECE, 71 



GREECE. 



Fair clime ! where every season smiles 
Benignant o'er those blessed isles, 
Which, seen from far Colonna's height, 
Make glad the heart that hails the sight. 
And lend to loneliness delight. 5 

There mildly dimpling, Ocean's cheek 
Reflects the tints of many a peak 
Caught by the laughing tides that lave 
These Edens of the eastern wave : 
And if at times a transient breeze 10 

Break the blue crystal of the seas, 
Or sweep one blossom from the trees, 
How welcome is each gentle air 
That wakes and wafts the odors there ! 
Eor there — the Rose o'er crag or vale, 15 

Sultana of the Nightingale, 

The maid for whom his melody. 
His thousand songs are heard on high, 
Blooms blushing to her lover's tale : 
His queen, the garden queen, his Rose, 20 

Unbent by winds, unchill'd by snows. 



12, LOBD BYRON, 

Far from the winters of the west, 

By every breeze and season blest, 

Eeturns the sweets by nature given 

In softest incense back to heaven ; 25 

And grateful yields that smiling sky 

Her fairest hue and fragrant sigh. 

And many a summer flower is there, 

And many a shade that love might share, 

And many a grotto, meant for rest, 30 

That holds the pirate for a guest ; 

Whose bark in sheltering cove below 

Lurks for the passing peaceful prow. 

Till the gay mariner's guitar 

Is heard, and seen the evening star ; 35 

Then stealing with the muffled oar 

Far shaded by the rocky shore, 

Eush the night-prowlers on the prey, 

And turn to groans his roundelay. 

Strange — that where Nature loved to trace, 40 

As if for Gods, a dwelling place, 

And every charm and grace hath mix't 

Within the paradise she fix't. 

There man, enamour'd of distress, 

Should mar it into wilderness, 45 

And trample, brute-like, o'er each flower 

That tasks not one laborious hour ; 

Nor claims the culture of his hand 

To bloom along the fairy land, 

But springs as to preclude his care, 50 



_ GREECE. 73 

And sweetly woos him — but to spare ! 

Strange — that where all is peace beside, 

There passion riots in her pride, 

And lust and rapine wildly reign 

To darken o'er the fair domain. 55 

It is as though the fiends prevail'd 

Against the seraphs they assail'd, 

And, fix'd on heavenly thrones, should dwell 

The free inheritors of hell ; 

So soft the scene, so form'd for joy, 60 

So curst the tyrants that destroy ! 

He who hath bent him o'er the dead 

Ere the first day of death is fled, 

The first dark day of nothingness, 

The last of danger and distress 65 

(Before Decay's effacing fingers 

Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,) 

And mark'd the mild angelic air, 

The rapture of repose that's there, 

The fix't yet tender traits that streak 70 

The languor of the placid cheek. 

And — but for that sad shrouded eye, 
That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now, 
And but for that chill, changeless brow, 

Where cold Obstruction's apathy 75 

Appals the gazing mourner's heart. 

As if to him it could impart 

The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon ; 



74 LORD BTRON. 



Yes, but for these and these alone, 



Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, so 

He still might doubt the tyrant's power ; 
So fair, so calm, so softly seard, 
The first, last look by death reveal'd ! 
Such is the aspect of this shore ; 
'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more ! 85 

So coldly sweet, so deadly fair. 
We start, for soul is wanting there. 
Hers is the loveliness in death, 
That parts not quite with parting breath ; 
But beauty with that fearful bloom, 90 

That hue which haunts it to the tomb, 
Expression's last receding ray, 
A gilded halo hovering round decay, 
The farewell beam of Feeling past away ! 
Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth, 95 
Which gleams, but warms no more its cherished earth ! 

Clime of the unforgotten brave ! 
Whose land from plain to mountain-cave 
Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave ! 
Shrine of the mighty ! can it be, 100 

That this is all remains of thee ? 
Approach, thou craven crouching slave : 

Say, is not this Thermopylae ? 
These waters blue that round you lave, 

Oh servile offspring of the free — 
Pronounce what sea, what shore is this ? 105 



GREECE. 75 

The gulf, the rock of Salainis ! 

These scenes, their story not unknown, 

Arise, and make again your own ; 

Snatch from the ashes of your sires 

The embers of their former fires ; no 

And he who in the strife expires 

Will add to theirs a name of fear 

That Tyranny shall quake to hear, 

And leave his sons a hope, a fame, 

They too will rather die than shame : ns 

For Freedom's battle once begun, 

Bequeath'd by bleeding Sire to Son, 

Though baffled oft, is ever won. 

Bear witness, Greece, thy living page. 

Attest it many a deathless age ! 120 

While kings, in dusty darkness hid. 

Have left a nameless pyramid. 

Thy heroes, though the general doom 

Hath swept the column from their tomb, 

A mightier monument command, 125 

The mountains of their native land ! 

There points thy Muse to stranger's eye 

The graves of those that cannot die ! 

'Twere long to tell and sad to trace, 

Each step from "feplendor to disgrace ; 130 

Enough — no foreign foe could quell 

Thy soul, till from itself it fell ; 

Yes ! Self-abasement paved the way 

To villain bonds and despot sway. 



76 LORD BYRON. 



ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 



'T IS done, — but yesterday a King! 

And arm'd with Kings to strive — 
And now thou art a nameless thing : 

So abject — yet alive ! 
Is this the man of thousand thrones, 6 

Who strewed our earth with hostile bones, 

And can he thus survive ? — 
Since he, miscall'd the Morning Star, 
Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far. 

Ill-minded man ! why scourge thy kind lo 

Who bowVl so low the knee ? 
By gazing on thyself grown blind. 

Thou taught'st the rest to see. 
With might unquestion'd, — power to save, — 
Thine only gift hath been the grave 15 

To those that worshipped thee ; . 
Nor till thy fall could mortals guess 
Ambition^s less than littleness ! 

Thanks for that lesson — it will teach 

To after-warriors more 20 



ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 11 

Than high Philosophy can preach, 

And vainly preach'd before. 
That spell upon the minds of men 
Breaks never to unite again, 

That led them to adore 25 

Those Pagod things of sabre sway, 
With fronts of brass, and feet of clay. 

The triumph, and the vanity. 

The rapture of the strife — 
The earthquake voice of Victory, 30 

To thee the breath of life ; 
The sword, the sceptre, and that sway 
Which man seem'd made but to obey, 

Wherewith renown was rife — 
All quell'd ! — Dark Spirit ! what must be 35 

The madness of thy memory ! 

The Desolater desolate ? 

The Victor overthrown ! 
The Arbiter of others' fate 

A Suppliant for his own ! 40 

Is it some yet imperial hope 
That with such change can calmly cope ? 

Or dread of death alone ? 
To die a prince — or live a slave — 
Thy choice is most ignobly brave ! 45 

He who of old would rend the oak, 
Dream'd not of the rebound ; 



78 LOBB BYRON, 

ChainM by the trunk lie vainly broke — 

Alone — how look'd he round ? 
Thou in the sternness of thy strength 50 

An equal deed hast done at length, 

And darker fate hast found ; 
He fell, the forest prowlers' prey ; 
But thou must eat thy heart away ! 

The Roman when his burning heart us 

Was slaked with blood of Rome, 
Threw down the dagger — dared depart, 

In savage grandeur, home. — 
He dared depart in utter scorn 
Of men that such a yoke had borne, eo 

Yet left him such a doom ! 
His only glory was that hour 
Of self-upheld abandon'd power. 

The Spaniard, when the lust of sway 

Had lost its quickening spell, 65 

Cast crowns for rosaries away, 
An empire for a cell ; 

A strict accountant of his beads, 

A subtle disputant on creeds, 

His dotage trifled well : 70 

Yet better had he never known 

A bigot's shrine, nor despot's throne. 

But thou — from thy reluctant hand 
The thunderbolt is wrung — 



ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 79 

Too late thou leav'st the high commaud 75 

To which thy weakness clung ; 
All Evil Spirit as thou art, 
It is enough to grieve the heart 

To see thine own unstrung ; 
To think that God's fair world hath been 80 

The footstool of a thing so mean ; 

And Earth hath spilt her blood for him, 

Who thus can hoard his own ! 
And Monarchs bow'd the trembling limb, 

And thank'd him for a throne ! 85 

Fair Freedom ! we may hold thee dear, 
When thus thy mightiest foes their fear 

In humblest guise have shown. 
Oh ! ne'er may tyrant leave behind 
A brighter name to lure mankind ! 90 

Thine evil deeds art writ in gore, 

Nor written thus in vain — 
Thy triumphs tell of fame no more, 

Or deepen every stain : 
If thou hadst died as honor dies, 95 

Some new Napoleon might arise. 

To shame the world again — 
But who would soar the solar height, 
To set in such a starless night ? 

Weigh'd in the balance, hero dust 100 

Is vile as vulgar clay ; 



80 LOUD BYRON. 

Thy scales, Mortality I are just 

To all that pass away : 
But yet methought the living great 
Some higher sparks should animate, io5 

To dazzle and dismay ; 
Nor deem'd Contempt could thus make mirth 
Of these, the Conquerors of the earth. 

And she, proud Austria's mournful flower, 

Thy still imperial bride ; no 

How bears her breast the torturing hour ? 
Still clings she to thy side ? 

Must she too bend, must she too share 

Thy late repentance, long despair. 

Thou throneless Homicide ? lis 

If still she loves thee, hoard that gem, 

'Tis worth thy vanish'd diadem ! 

Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle, 

And gaze upon the sea ; 
That element may meet thy smile — 120 

It ne'er was ruled by thee ! 
Or trace with thine all idle hand 
In loitering mood upon the sand 

That Earth is now as free ! 
That Corinth's pedagogue hath now 125 

Transferr'd his by-word to thy brow. 

Thou Timour ! in his captive's cage 
What thoughts will there be thine, 



ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE, 81 

While brooding in thy prison'd rage ? 

But one — " The world was mine ! " 130 

Unless, like he of Babylon, 
All sense is with thy sceptre gone, 

Life will not long confine 
That spirit pour'd so widely forth — 
So long obey'd — so little worth ! ^ 135 

Or, like the thief of fire from heaven, 

Wilt thou withstand the shock ? 
And share with him, the unforgiven, 

His vulture and his rock ! 
Foredoom'd by God — by man accurst, 140 

And that last act, though not thy worst, 

The very Fiend's arch mock ; 
He in his fall preserved his pride. 
And, if a mortal, had as proudly died ! 

There was a day — there was an hour, 145 

While earth was Gaul's — Gaul thine 

When that immeasurable power 
Unsated to resign 

Had been an act of purer fame 

Than gathers round Marengo's name, 150 

And gilded thy decline 

Through the long twilight of all time. 

Despite some passing clouds of crime. 



But thou forsooth must be a king 
And don the purple vest, — 



156 



LORD BYRON, 

As if that foolish robe could wring 

Kemembrance from thy breast. 
Where is that faded garment ? where 
The gewgaws thou wert fond to wear, 

The star — the string — the crest ? leo 

Vain froward child of empire ! say, 
Are all thy playthings snatch'd away ? 

Where may the wearied eye repose 

When gazing on the Great : 
Where neither guilty glory glows, 165 

Nor despicable state ? 
Yes — one — the first — the last — the best — 
The Cincinnatus of the West, 

AVhom envy dared not hate, 
Bequeath'd the name of Washington, no 

To make man blush there was but one ! 



THE ISLES OF GREECE. 83 



THE ISLES OF GREECE. 
(song of a greek.) 



The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece ! 

Where burning Sappho loved and sung, 
Where grew the arts of war and peace, — 

Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! 
Eternal summer gilds them yet, 5 

But all, except their sun, is set. 

The Scian and the Teian muse, 

The hero's harp, the lover's lute, 
Have found the fame your shores refuse ; 

Their place of birth alone is mute 10 

To sounds which echo further west 
Than your sires' " Islands of the Blest." 

The mountains look on Marathon — 

And Marathon looks on the sea ; 
And musing there an hour alone, 15 

I dream'd that Greece might still be free ; 
Eor standing on the Persians' grave, 
I could not deem myself a slave. 



84 LOliB BYRON. 

A king sate on the rocky brow 

Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; 20 

And ships, by thousands, lay below, 

And men in nations ; — all were his ! 
He counted them at break of day — 
And when the sun set where were they ? 

And where are they ? and where art thou, 25 

My country ? On thy voiceless shore 

The heroic lay is tuneless now — 
The heroic bosom beats no more ! 

And must thy lyre, so long divine, 

Degenerate into hands like mine ? 30 

'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, 
Though link'd among a fetter'd race, 

To feel at least a patriot's shame. 
Even as I sing, suffuse my face ; 

Tor what is left the poet here ? ss 

For Greeks a blush — for Greece a tear. 

Must we but weep o'er days more blest ? 

Must ive but blush ? — Our fathers bled. 
Earth ! render back from out thy breast 

A remnant of our Spartan dead ! 40 

Of the three hundred grant but three, 
To make a new Thermopylae ! 

What, silent still ? and silent all ? 
Ah ! no ; — the voices of the dead 



THE ISLES OF GREECE. 85 

Sound like a distant torrent's fall, 46 

And answer, <^ Let one living head, 
But one arise, — we come, we come !" 
'Tis but the living who are dumb. 

In vain — in vain : strike other chords ; 

Fill high the cup with Samian wine ! 50 

Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, 

And shed the blood of Scio's vine ! 
Hark ! rising to the ignoble call — 
How answers each bold Bacchanal ! 

You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, 55 

Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ? 

Of two such lessons, why forget 
The nobler and the manlier one ? 

You have the letters Cadmus gave — 

Think ye he meant them for a slave ? eo 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 

We will not think of themes like these I 
It made Anacreon's song divine : 

He served — but served Polycrates 
A tyrant ; but our masters then 65 

AVere still, at least, our countrymen. 

The tyrant of the Chersonese 

Was freedom's best and bravest friend ; 
That tyrant was Miltiades ! 

Oh ! that the present hour would lend 70 



LOni) BYBON. 

Another despot of the kind ! 

Such chains as his were sure to bind. 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 

On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore, 
Exists the remnant of a line 75 

Such as the Doric mothers bore ; 
And there, perhaps some seed is sown, 
The Heracleidan blood might own. 

Trust not for freedom to the Franks — 

They have a king who buys and sells : so 

In native swords, and native ranks. 
The only hope of courage dwells ; 

But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, 

Would break your shield, however broad. 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 85 

Our virgins dance beneath the shade — 

I see their glorious black eyes shine ; 
But gazing on each glowing maid, 

My own the burning tear-drop laves, 

To think such breasts must suckle slaves. so 

Place me on Sunium's marbled steep. 
Where nothing, save the waves and I, 

May hear our mutual murmurs sweep ; 
There, swan-like, let me sing and die. 

A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine — 

Dash down yon cup of Samian wine ! 



AVE MARIA. 87 



AVE MARIA. 



Ave Maria ! blessed be the hour ! 

The time, the clime, the spot, where I so oft 
Have felt that moment in its fullest power 

Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft, 
While swung the deep bell in the distant tower, 5 

Or the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft, 
And not a breath crept through the rosy air. 
And yet the forest leaves seem'd stirr'd with prayer. 

Ave Maria ! 'tis the hour of prayer ! 

Ave Maria ! 'tis the hour of love ! 10 

Ave Maria ! may our spirits dare 

Look up to thine and to thy Son's above ! 
Ave Maria ! oh, that face so fair ! 

Those downcast eyes beneath the Almighty dove — 
What though 'tis but a pictured image ? — strike — 15 
That painting is no idol — 'tis too like. 

Sweet hour of twilight ! — in the solitude ^ 

Of the pine forest, and the silent shore 

Which bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood. 

Rooted where once the Adrian wave flowed o'er, 20 



88 LORD BYliON. 

To where the last Csesarean fortress stood, 
Evergreen forest I which Boccaccio's lore 
And Dryden's lay made haunted ground to me, 
How have I loved the twilight hour and thee ! 

The shrill cicalas, people of the pine, 25 

Making their summer lives one ceaseless song, 

"Were the sole echoes, save my steed's and mine. 
And vesper bell's that rose the boughs along ; 

The spectre huntsman of Onesti's line, 

His hell-dogs, and their chase, and the fair throng 30 

Which learn'd from this example not to fly 

From a true lover, — shadow'd my mind's eye. 

Oh, Hesperus ! thou bringest all good, things — 
Home to the weary, to the hungry cheer. 

To the young bird the parent's brooding wings, 35 

The welcome stall to the o'erlabor'd steer ; 

Whatever of peace about our hearthstone clings, 
Whate'er our household gods protect of dear, 

Are gather'd round us by thy look of rest ; 

Thou bring'st the child, too, to the mother's breast. 40 

Soft hour ! which wakes the wish and melts the heart 
Of those who sail the seas, on the first day 

When they from their sweet friends are torn apart ; 
Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way 

As the far bell of vesper makes him start, 45 

Seeming to weep the dying day's decay ; 



AVE MARIA. 89 

Is this a fancy which our reason scorns ? 

Ah I surely nothing dies but something mourns ! 

When Nero perish'd by the justest doom 

Which ever the destroyer yet destroy'd, 50 

Amidst the roar of liberated Rome, 

Of nations freed, and the world overjoy'd. 

Some hand unseen strew'd flowers upon his tomb : 
Perhaps the weakness of a heart not void 

Of feeling for some kindness done, when power 55 

Had left the wretch an uncorrupted hour. 



90 LOBD BYRON. 



MAZEPPA 



'TwAs after dread Pultowa's day, 

When fortune left the royal Swede, 
Around a slaughtered army lay, 

Ko more to combat and to bleed. 

The power and glory of the war, 5 

Faithless as their vain votaries, men. 

Had passed to the triumphant Czar, 
And Moscow's walls were safe again, 

Until a day more dark and drear. 

And a more memorable year, 10 

Should give to slaughter and to shame 

A mightier host and haughtier name ; 

A greater wreck, a deeper fall, 

A shock to one — a thunderbolt to all. 



II 

Such was the hazard of the die ; 

The wounded Charles was taught to fly 



MAZEPPA. 91 

By day and night through field and flood, 

Stained with his own and subjects' blood ; 

For thousands fell that flight to aid : 

And not a voice was heard t' upbraid 20 

Ambition in his humbled hour, 

When Truth had nought to dread from Power. 

His horse was slain, and Gieta gave 

His own — and died the Russians' slave. 

This too sinks after many a league ^ 25 

Of well sustained, but vain fatigue ; 

And in the depth of forests darkling, 

The watch-fires in the distance sparkling — 

The beacons of surrounding foes — 
A king must lay his limbs at length. 30 

Are these the laurels and repose 
For which the nations strain their strength ? 
They laid him by a savage tree, 
In outworn nature's agony ; 

His wounds were stiff, his limbs were stark ; 35 

The heavy hour was chill and dark ; 
The fever in his blood forbade 
A transient slumber's fitful aid : 
And thus it was ; but yet through all, 
Kinglike the monarch bore his fall, 40 

And made, in this extreme of ill, 
His pangs the vassals of his will : 
All silent and subdued were they, 
As once the nations round him lay. 



92 LORD BYRON. 



Ill 

A band of chiefs ! — alas ! how few, 

Since but the fleeting of a day 
Had thinned it ; but this wreck was true 

And chivalrous : upon the clay 
Each sate him down, all sad and mute, 

Beside his monarch and his steed, 60 

For danger levels man and brute, 

And all are fellows in their need. 
Among the rest, Mazeppa made 
His pillow in an old oak's shade — 
Himself as rough, and scarce less old, 65 

The Ukraine's hetman, calm and bold ; 
But first, outspent with this long course. 
The Cossack prince rubbed down his horse, 
And made for him a leafy bed. 

And smoothed his fetlocks and his mane, 60 

And slacked his girth, and stripped his rein, 
And joyed to see how well he fed ; 
For until now he had the dread 
His wearied courser might refuse 
To browse beneath the midnight dews : es 

But he was hardy as his lord. 
And little cared for bed and board ; 
But spirited and docile too, 
Whate'er was to be done, would do. 
Shaggy and swift, and strong of limb, 70 

All Tartar-like he carried him : 



MAZEPPA. 93 

Obeyed his voice, and came to call, 

And knew him in the midst of all : 

Though thousands were around, — and Night, 

Without a star, pursued her flight, — 75 

That steed from sunset until dawn 

His chief would follow like a fawn. 

IV 

This done, Mazeppa spread his cloak, 

And laid his lance beneath his oak, 

Felt if his arms in order good so 

The long day's march had well withstood — 

If still the powder filled the pan, 

And flints unloosened kept their lock — 
His. sabre's hilt and scabbard felt, 
And whether they had chafed his belt ; 85 

And next the venerable man, 
From out his haversack and can, 

Prepared and spread his slender stock ; 
And to the monarch and his men 
The whole or portion offered them 90 

With far less of inquietude 
Than courtiers at a banquet would. 
And Charles of this his slender share 
With smiles partook a moment there, 
To force of cheer a greater show, 95 

And seem above both wounds and woe ; 
And then he said — " Of all our band. 
Though firm of heart and strong of hand, 



94 LORD BYRON. 

In skirmish, march, or forage, none 

Can less have said or more have done lOO 

Than thee, Mazeppa ! On the earth 

So fit a pair had never birth. 

Since Alexander's days till now, 

As thy Bucephalus and thou : 

All Scythia's fame to thine should yield 105 

For pricking on o 'er flood and field." 

Mazeppa answered — '' 111 betide 

The school wherein I learned to ride ! " 

Quoth Charles — " Old Hetman, wherefore so, 

Since thou hast learned the art so well ? " no 

Mazeppa said — " 'Twere long to tell ; 

And we have many a league to go, 

With every now and then a blow. 

And ten to one at least the foe, 

Before our steeds may graze at ease, iiB 

Beyond the swift Borysthenes : 

And, sire, your limbs have need of rest, 

And I will be the sentinel 
Of this your troop." — " But I request," 

Said Sweden's monarch, " thou wilt tell 120 

This tale of thine, and I may reap. 
Perchance, from this the boon of sleep ; 
For at this moment from my eyes 
The hope of present slumber flies." 

" Well, sire, with such a hope, I'll track 125 

My seventy years of memory back : 



MAZEPPA. 95 

I think 'twas in my twentieth spring, — 

Ay, 'twas, — when Casimir was king — 

John Casimir, — I was his page 

Six summers, in my earlier age : iso 

A learned monarch, faith ! was he, 

And most unlike your majesty ; 

He made no wars, and did not gain 

New realms to lose them back again ; 

And, save debates in Warsaw's diet, 135 

He reigned in most unseemly quiet ; 

Not that he had no cares to vex, 

He loved the muses and the sex ; 

And sometimes these so froward are, 

They made him wish himself at war ; i4o 

But soon his wrath being o'er, he took 

Another mistress, or new book : 

And then he gave prodigious f^tes^— 

All Warsaw gathered round his gates 

To gaze upon his splendid court, i« 

And dames and chiefs, of princely port. 

He was the Polish Solomon, 

So sung his poets, all but one. 

Who, being unpensioned, made a satire. 

And boasted that he could not flatter. 150 

It was a court of jousts and mimes, 

Where every courtier tried at rhymes ; 

Even I for once produced some verses. 

And signed my odes < Despairing Thyrsis.' 

There was a certain Palatine, 155 



96 LORD BYRON. 

A count of far and high descent, 
Rich as a salt or silver mine ; 
And he was proud, ye may divine, 

As if from heaven he had been sent : 
He had such wealth in blood and ore leo 

As few could match beneath the throne ; 
And he would gaze upon his store. 
And o'er his pedigree would pore, 
Until by some confusion led. 
Which almost looked like want of head, les 

He thought their merits were his own. 
His wife was not of his opinion ; 

His junior she by thirty years. 
Grew daily tired of his dominion ; 

And, after wishes, hopes, and fears, 170 

To virtue a few farewell tears, 
A restless dream or two, some glances 
At Warsaw's youth, some songs, and dances 
Awaited but the usual chances. 
Those happy accidents which render 175 

The coldest dames so very tender. 
To deck her count with titles given, 
'Tis said, as passports into heaven ; 
But, strange to say, they rarely boast 
Of these, who have deserved them most. iso 



'^ I was a goodly stripling then ; 
At seventy years I so may say. 



MAZEPPA. 97 

That there were few, or boys or men, 

Who, in my dawning time of day, 
Of vassal or of knight's degree, 186 

Could vie in vanities with me; 
For I had strength, youth, gaiety, 
A port, not like to this ye see. 
But smooth, as all is rugged now ; 

For time, and care, and war, have ploughed i90 
My very soul from out my brow ; 

And thus I should be disavowed 
By all my kind and kin, could they 
Compare my day and yesterday ; 
This change was wrought, too, long ere age 195 

Had ta'en my features for his page : 
With years, ye know, have not declined 
My strength, my courage, or my mind. 
Or at this hour I should not be 
Telling old tales beneath a tree, 200 

With starless skies my canopy. 

But let me on : Theresa's form — 
Methinks it glides before me now, 
Between me and yon chestnut's bough. 

The memory is so quick and warm ; 20B 

And yet I find no words to tell 
The shape of her I loved so well : 
She had the Asiatic eye. 

Such as our Turkish neighborhood 

Hath mingled with our Polish blood, 210 

Dark as above us is the sky ; 



98 LORD BYRON. 

But through it stole a tender light, 

Like the first moonrise of midnight ; 

Large, dark, and swimming in the stream, 

Which seemed to melt to its own beam; 215 

All love, half languor, and half fire. 

Like saints that at the stake expire, 

And lift their raptured looks on high, 

As though it were a joy to die. 

A brow like a midsummer lake, 220 

Transparent with the sun therein. 
When waves no murmur dare to make, 

And Heaven beholds her face within. 
A cheek and lip — but why proceed ? 

I loved her then, I love her still ; 225 

And such as I am, love indeed 

In fierce extremes — in good and ill. 
But still we love even in our rage, 
And haunted to our very age 

With the vain shadow of the past, 23c 

As is Mazeppa to the last. 

VI 

"We met — we gazed — I saw, and sighed, 
She did not speak, and yet replied ; 
There are ten thousand tones and signs 
We hear and see, but none defines — 235 

Involuntary sparks of thought, 
Which strike from out the heart overwrought, 
And form a strange intelligence, 



MAZEPPA. 99 

Alike mysterious and intense, 

Which link the burning chain that binds 240 

Without their will, young hearts and minds ; 

Conveying, as the electric wire, 

We know not how, the absorbing fire. 

I saw, and sighed — in silence wept, 

And still reluctant distance kept, 245 

Until I was made known to her. 

And we might then and there confer 

Without suspicion — then, even then, 

I longed, and was resolved to speak ; 
But on my lips they died again, 250 

The accents tremulous and weak, 
Until one hour. — There is a game, 

A frivolous and foolish play. 

Wherewith we while away the day ; 
It is — I have forgot the name — 255 

And we to this, it seems, were set, 
By some strange chance, which I forget : 
I recked not if I won or lost, 

It was enough for me to be 

So near to hear, and oh ! to see 26O 

The being whom I loved the most. 
I watched her as a sentinel, — 
May ours this dark night watch as well ! 

Until I saw, and thus it was. 
That she was pensive, nor perceived 265 

Her occupation, nor was grieved 
Nor glad to lose or gain ; but still , 



100 LORD BYRON. 

Played on for hours, as if her will 

Yet bound her to the place, though not 

That hers might be the winning lot. 270 

Then through my brain the thought did pass 
Even as a flash of lightning there. 
That there was something in her air 
Which would not doom me to despair ; 
And on the thought my words broke forth 275 

All incoherent as they were — 
Their eloquence was little worth, 
But yet she listened — 'tis enough — 

Who listens once will listen twice ; 

Her heart, be sure, is not of ice, 280 

And one refusal no rebuff. 



VII 

" I loved, and was beloved again — 

They tell me, sire, you never knew 

Those gentle frailties ; if 'tis true, 
I shorten all my joy or pain ; 285 

To you 'twould seem absurd as vain ; 
But all men are not born to reign. 
Or o'er their passions, or as you 
Thus o'er themselves and nations too. 
I am — or rather was — a prince, 290 

A chief of thousands, and could lead 

Them on where each would foremost bleed ; 
But could not o'er myself evince 



MAZEPPA. 101 

The like control — But to resume ; 

I loved, and was beloved again ; 295 

In sooth, it is a happy doom. 

But yet where happiest ends in pain. 
We met in secret, and the hour 
Which led me to that lady's bower 
AVas fiery Expectation's dower. 300 

My days and nights were nothing — all 
Except that hour which doth recall. 
In the long lapse from youth to age, 

No other like itself : I'd give 

The Ukraine back again to live 305 

It o'er once more, and be a page, 
The happy page, who was the lord 
Of one soft heart, and his own sword, 
And had no other gem nor wealth 
Save Nature's gift of youth and health. 310 

We met in secret — doubly sweet. 
Some say, they find it so to meet ; 
I know not that — I would have given 

My life but to have called her mine 
In the full view of earth and heaven ; 315 

For I did oft and long repine 
That we could only meet by stealth. 



VIII 

" For lovers there are many eyes. 

And such there were on us : the devil 



102 LORD BYRON. 

On such occasions should be civil — S20 

The devil ! — I'm loth to do him wrong, 

It might be some untoward saint, 
Who would not be at rest too long, 

But to his pious bile gave vent — 
But one fair night, some lurking spies 325 

Surprised and seized us both. 
The Count was something more than wroth — 
I was unarmed ; but if in steel 
All cap-a-pie from head to heel, 

What Against their numbers could I do ? — 330 
'Twas near his castle, far away 

From city or from succor near, 
And almost on the break of day ; 
I did not think to see another. 

My moments seemed reduced to few; 335 

And with one prayer to Mary Mother, 

And, it may be, a saint or two, 
As I resigned me to my fate. 
They led me to the castle gate : 

Theresa's doom I never knew, 340 

Our lot was henceforth separate. 
An angry man, ye may opine, 
Was he, the proud Count Palatine ; 
And he had reason good to be, 

But he was most enraged lest such 34S 

An accident should chance to touch 
Upon his future pedigree ; 
Nor less amazed, that such a blot 



MAZEPPA. 103 

His noble 'scutcheon should have got, 

While he was highest of his line ; 350 

Because unto himself he seemed 
The first of men, nor less he deemed 

In others' eyes, and most in mine. 

'Sdeath ! with a pa(/e — perchance a king 

Had reconciled him to the thing ; 356 

But with a stripling of a page — 

I felt — but cannot paint his rage. 



IX 

" < Bring forth the horse ! ' — the horse was brought. 
In truth, he was a noble steed, 

A Tartar of the Ukraine breed, 360 

Who looked as though the speed of thought 
Were in his limbs ; but he was wild, 

Wild as the wild deer, and untaught, 
With spur and bridle undefiled — 

'Twas but a day he had been caught ; 365 

And snorting, with erected mane. 
And struggling fiercely, but in vain. 
In the full foam of wrath and dread 
To me the desert-born was led ; 
They bound me on, that menial throng, 370 

Upon his back with many a thong ; 
Then loosed him with a sudden lash — 
Away ! away ! and on we dash ! — 
Torrents less rapid and less rash. 



104 LORD BTRON. 



" Away ! away ! My breath was gone — 375 

I saw not where he hurried on : 
'Twas scarcely yet the break of day, 
And on he foamed — away ! away ! 
The last of human sounds which rose, 
As I was darted from my foes, 380 

Was the wild shout of savage laughter. 
Which on the wind came roaring after 
A moment from that rabble rout : 
With sudden wrath I wrenched my head, 

And snapped the chord, which to the mane 385 

Had bound my neck in lieu of rein. 
And, writhing half my form about, 
Howled back my curse ; but 'midst the tread, 
The thunder of my courser's speed, 
Perchance they did not hear nor heed : 390 

It vexes me — for I would fain 
Have paid their insult back again. 
I paid it well in after days : 

There is not of that castle gate, 

Its drawbridge and portcullis' weight, 395 

Stone, bar, moat, bridge, or barrier left ; 
Nor of its fields a blade of grass. 

Save what grows on a ridge of wall, 

Where stood the hearth-stone of the hall ; 
And many a time ye there might pass, 400 

Nor dream that e'er that fortress was : 



MAZEPPA. 105 

I saw its turrets in a blaze, 

Their crackling battlements all cleft 

And the hot lead pour down like rain 
From off the scorched and blackening roof, 405 

Whose thickness was not vengeance-proof. 

They little thought that day of pain, 
When launched, as on the lightning's flash, 
They bade me to destruction dash, 

That one day I should come again, 410 

With twice five thousand horse, to thank 

The Count for his uncourteous ride. 
They played me then a bitter prank. 

When, with the wild horse for my guide, 
They bound me to his foaming flank : 415 

At length I played them one as frank — 
For time at last sets all things even — 

And if we do but watch the hour, 

There never yet was human power 
Which could evade, if unforgiven, 420 

The patient search and vigil long 

Of him who treasures up a wrong. 

XI 

" Away ! away ! my steed and I, 
Upon the pinions of the wind. 

All human dwellings left behind, 425 

We sped like meteors through the sky, 
When with its crackling sound the night 

. Is chequered with the northern light. 



lOG LORD BYRON. 

Town — village — none were on our track, 

But a wild plain of far extent, 430 

And bounded by a forest black ; 

And, save the scarce seen battlement 

On distant heights of some stronghold, 

Against the Tartars built of old, 

No trace of man. The year before, 435 

A Turkish army had marched o'er ; 

And where the Spahi's hoof hath trod, 

The verdure flies the bloody sod : 

The sky was dull, and dim, and gray, 

And a low breeze crept moaning by — 440 

I could have answered with a sigh — 

But fast we fled, away ! away ! 

And I could neither sigh nor pray ; 

And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain 

Upon the courser's bristling mane ; 445 

But, snorting still with rage and fear, 

He flew upon his far career : 

At times I almost thought, indeed. 

He must have slackened in his speed ; 

But no — my bound and slender frame 450 

Was nothing to his angry might. 

And merely like a spur became : 

Each motion which I made to free 

My swoln limbs from their agony 

Increased his fury and affright : 455 

I tried my voice, — 'twas faint and low, 

But yet he swerved as from a blow, 



MAZEPPA. 107 

And, starting to each accent, sprang 

As from a sudden trumpet's clang : 

Meantime my cords were wet with gore, mo 

Which, oozing through my limbs, ran o'er ; 

And in my tongue the thirst became 

A something fierier far than flame. 

XII 

" We neared the wild wood — 'twas so wide, 
I saw no bounds on either side ; 465 

'Twas studded with old sturdy trees, 
That bent not to the roughest breeze 
Which howls down from Siberia's waste, 
And strips the forest in its haste, — 
But these were few and far between, 470 

Set thick with shrubs more young and green, 
Luxuriant with their annual leaves, 
Ere strown by those autumnal eves 
That nip the forest's foliage dead. 
Discolored with a lifeless red, 475 

Which stands thereon like stiffened gore 
Upon the slain when battle's o'er, 
And some long winter's night hath shed 
Its frost o'er every tombless head, 
So cold and stark the raven's beak 48o 

May peck unpierced each frozen cheek : 
'Twas a wild waste of underwood, 
And here and there a chestnut stood. 
The strong oak, and the hardy pine ; 



108 LORD BYBON. 

But far apart — and well it were, 485 

Or else a different lot were mine — 

The boughs gave way, and did not tear 
My limbs ; and I found strength to bear 
My wounds, already scarred with cold — 
My bonds forbade to loose my hold. 490 

We rustled through the leaves like wind. 
Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind ; 
By night I heard them on the track, 
Their troop came hard upon our back, 
With their long gallop, which can tire 495 

The hound's deep hate, and hunter's fire : 
Where'er we flew they followed on, 
Nor left us with the morning sun ; 
Behind I saw them, scarce a rood, 
At day-break winding through the wood, 500 

And through the night had heard their feet 
Their stealing, rustling step repeat. 
Oh ! how I wished for spear or sword, 
At least to die amidst the horde, 
And perish — if it must be so — 505 

At bay, destroying many a foe ! 
When first my courser's race begun, 
I wished the goal already won ; 
But now I doubted strength and speed. 
Vain doubt ! his swift and savage breed 510 

Had nerved him like the mountain-roe ; 
Nor faster falls the blinding snow 
Which whelms the peasant near the door 



MAZEPPA. 109 

Whose threshold he shall cross no more, 

Bewildered with the dazzling blast, 515 

Than through the forest-paths he past — 

Untired, untamed, and worse than wild ; 

All furious as a favored child 

Balked of its wish ; or fiercer still — 

A woman piqued — who has her will. 520 

XIII 

" The wood was past ; 'twas more than noon, 
But chill the air, although in June ; 
Or it might be my veins ran cold — 
Prolonged endurance tames the bold ; 
And I was then not what I seem, 525 

But headlong as a wintry stream, 
And wore my feelings out before 
I well could count their causes o'er : 
And what with fury, fear, and wrath, 
The tortures which beset my path, 530 

Cold, hunger, sorrow, shame, distress. 
Thus bound in nature's nakedness ; 
Sprung from a race whose rising blood 
When stirred beyond its calmer mood. 
And trodden hard upon, is like 535 

The rattle-snake's, in act to strike. 
What marvel if this worn-out trunk 
Beneath its woes a moment sunk ? 
The earth gave way, the skies rolled round, 
I seemed to sink upon the ground ; 540 



110 LORD BYRON. 

But erred, for I was fastly bound. 

My heart turned sick, my brain grew sore, 

And throbbed awhile, then beat no more : 

The skies spun like a mighty wheel ; 

I saw the trees like drunkards reel, 546 

And a slight flash sprang o'er my eyes, 

Which saw no farther. He who dies 

Can die no more than then I died, 

O'ertortured by that ghastly ride. 

I felt the blackness come and go, 550 

And strove to wake; but could not make 
My senses climb up from below : 
I felt as on a plank at sea, 
When all the waves that dash o'er thee. 
At the same time upheave and whelm, B66 

And hurl thee towards a desert realm. 
My undulating life was as 
The fancied lights that flitting pass 
Our shut eyes in deep midnight, when 
Fever begins upon the brain ; B60 

But soon it passed^ with little pain, 

But a confusion worse than such : 

I own that I should deem it much, 
Dying, to feel the same again ; 
And yet I do suppose we must 665 

Feel far more ere we turn to dust : 
No matter ; I have bared my brow 
Full in Death's face — before — and now. 



MAZEPPA. Ill 

XIV 
"My thoughts came back ; where was I ? Cold, 

And numb, and giddy : pulse by pulse 570 

Life reassumed its lingering hold, 
And throb by throb, — till grown a pang 
Which for a moment would convulse, 
My blood reflowed, though thick and chill ; 
My ear with uncouth noises rang, 576 

My heart began once more to thrill ; 
My sight returned, though dim ; alas ! 
And thickened, as it were, with glass. 
Methought the dash of waves was nigh ; 
There was a gleam too of the sky, 680 

Studded with stars ; — it is no dream ; 
The wild horse swims the wilder stream ! 
The bright broad river's gushing tide 
Sweeps, winding onward, far and wide, 
And we are half-way, struggling o'er 585 

To yon unknown and silent shore. 

The waters broke my hollow trance, ' 

And with a temporary strength 
My stiffened limbs were rebaptized. 
My courser's broad breast proudly braves, 590 

And dashes off the ascending waves. 
And onward we advance ! 
We reach the slippery shore at length, 
A haven I but little prized, 
Por all behind was dark and drear 595 

And all before was night and fear. 



112 LORD BYBON. 

How many hours of night or day 

In those suspended pangs I lay, 

I could not tell ; I scarcely knew 

If this were human breath I drew. eoo 

XV 

" With glossy skin, and dripping mane, 

And reeling limbs, and reeking flank. 
The wild steed's sinewy nerves still strain 

Up the repelling bank. 
We gain the top : a boundless plain cob 

Spreads through the shadow of the night, 

And onward, onward, onward, seems, 

Like precipices in our dreams, 
To stretch beyond the sight; 
And here and there a speck of white, eio 

Or scattered spot of dusky green, 
In masses broke into the light. 
As rose the moon upon my right : 

But nought distinctly seen 
In the dim waste would indicate 6i5 

The omen of a cottage gate ; 
No twinkling taper from afar 
Stood like a hospitable star ; 
Kot even an ignis-fatuus rose 
To make him merry with my woes : 620 

That very cheat had cheered me then ! 
Although detected, welcome still, 
Reminding me through every ill. 

Of the abodes of men. 



MAZEPPA. 113 

XVI 
" Onward we went — but slack and slow ; 625 

His savage force at length o'erspent, 
The drooping courser, faint and low, 

All feebly foaming went. 
A sickly infant had had power 
To guide him forward in that hour ; 630 

But, useless all to me, 
His new-born tameness nought availed — 
My limbs were bound ; my force had failed, 

Perchance, had they been free. 
With feeble effort still I tried 635 

To rend the bonds so starkly tied, 

But still it was in vain ; 
My limbs were only wrung the more. 
And soon the idle strife gave o'er. 

Which but prolonged their pain. 64o 

The dizzy race seemed almost done, 
Although no goal was nearly won : 
Some streaks announced the coming sun — 

How slow, alas ! he came ! 
Methought that mist of dawning gray 645 

Would never dapple into day ; 
How heavily it rolled away ! 

Before the eastern flame 
Kose crimson, and deposed the stars, 
And called the radiance from their cars, 65o 

And filled the earth, from his deep throne. 
With lonely lustre, all his own. 



114 LORD BYE ON. 

XVII 

" Up rose the sun ; the mists were curled 
Back from the solitary world 

Which lay around, behind, before. 655 

What booted it to traverse o'er 
Plain, forest, river ? Man nor brute, 
Nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot, 
Lay in the wild luxuriant soil ; 
No sign of travel, none of toil ; eeo 

The very air was mute ; 
And not an insect's shrill small horn, 
Nor matin bird's new voice was borne 
From herb nor thicket. Many a werst, 
Panting as if his heart would burst, 665 

The weary brute still staggered on ; 
And still we were — or seemed — alone. 
At length, while reeling on our way, 
Methought I heard a courser neigh, 
From out yon tuft of blackening firs. 670 

Is it the wind those branches stirs ? 
No, no ! from out the forest prance 

A trampling troop; I see them come! 
In one vast squadron they advance ! 

I strove to cry — my lips were dumb. 675 

The steeds rush on in plunging pride ; 
But where are they the reins to guide ? 
A thousand horse, and none to ride ! 
With flowing tail, and flying mane. 
Wide nostrils never stretched by pain,' eso 



MAZEPPA. 115 

Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein, 

And feet that iron never shod, 

And flanks unscarred by spur or rod, 

A thousand horse, the wild, the free, 

Like waves that follow o'er the sea, 685 

Came thickly thundering on, 
As if our faint approach to meet. 
The sight re-^nerved my courser's feet, 
A moment staggering, feebly fleet, 
A moment, with a faint low neigh, 690 

He answered, and then fell. 
With gasps and glazing eyes he lay. 

And reeking limbs immovable. 
His first and last career is done. 
On came the troop — they saw him stoop, 695 

They saw me strangely bound along 

His back with many a bloody thong : 
They stop, they start, they snuff the air. 
Gallop a moment here and there, 
Approach, retire, wheel round and round, too 

Then plunging back with sudden bound. 
Headed by one black mighty steed, 
Who seemed the patriarch of his breed, 

Without a single speck or hair 
Of white upon his shaggy hide ; 705 

They snort, they foam, neigh, swerve aside, 
And backward to the forest fly. 
By instinct, from a human eye. 

They left me there to my despair. 



116 LORD BYRON. 

Linked to the dead and stiffening wretch, 
Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch, 
Kelieved from that unwonted weight, 
From whence I could not extricate 
Kor him nor me — and there we lay. 

The dying on the dead ! 
I little deemed another day 

Would see my houseless, helpless head. 

*' And there from morn till twilight bound, 
I felt the heavy hours toil round, 
With just enough of life to see 
My last of suns go down on me. 
In hopeless certainty of mind, 
That makes us feel at length resigned 
To that which our foreboding years 
Presents the worst and last of fears : 
Inevitable — even a boon, 
Nor more unkind for coming soon. 
Yet shunned and dreaded with such care, 
As if it only were a snare 

That prudence might escape : 
At times both wished for and implored. 
At times sought with self-pointed sword, 
Yet still a dark and hideous close 
To even intolerable woes. 

And welcomed in no shape. 
And, strange to say, the sons of pleasure. 
They who have revelled be3^ond measure 



MAZEPPA. 117 

In beauty, wassail, wine, and treasure, 

Die calm, or calmer, oft than lie 

Whose heritage was misery. 740 

For he who hath in turn run through 

All that was beautiful and new. 

Hath nought to hope, and nought to leave ; 
And, save the future, — which is viewed 
Not quite as men are based or good, 745 

But as their nerves may be endued, — 

With nought perhaps to grieve : 
The wretch still hopes his woes must end. 
And Death, whom he should deem his friend, 
Appears, to his distempered eyes, 750 

Arrived to rob him of his prize, 
The tree of his new Paradise. 
To-morrow would have given him all. 
Repaid his pangs, repaired his fall ; 
To-morrow would have been the first 755 

Of days no more deplored or curst. 
But bright, and long, and beckoning years, 
Seen dazzling through the mist of tears, 
Guerdon of many a painful hour ; 
To-morrow would have given him power 760 

To rule, to shine, to smite, to save — 
And must it dawn upon his grave ? 

XVIII 

" The sun was sinking — still I lay 

Chained to the chill and stiffening steed. 



118 LORD BYRON, 

I thought to mingle there our clay ; 765 

And my dim eyes of death had need, 

No hope arose of being freed. 
I cast my last looks up the sky, 

And there between me and the sun 
I saw the expecting raven fly, 770 

Who scarce would wait till both should die, 

Ere his repast begun ; 
He flew, and perched, then flew once more, 
And each time nearer than before ; 
I saw his wing through twilight flit, 775 

And once so near me he alit 

I could have smote, but lacked the strength ; 
But the slight motion of my hafnd, . 
And feeble scratching of the sand, 
The exerted throat's faint struggling noise, 780 

Which scarcely could be called a voice. 

Together scared him off at length. 
I know no more — my latest dream 

Is something of a lovely star 

Which fixed my dull eyes from afar, 785 

And went and came with wandering beam. 
And of the cold, dull, swimming, dense 
Sensatipnof recurring sense. 
And then subsiding back to death. 
And then again a little breath, 790 

A little thrill, a short suspense, 

An icy sickness curdling o'er 
My heart, and sparks that crossed my brain — 



MAZEPPA. 119 

A gasp, a throb, a start of pain, 

A sigh, and nothing more. 795 

XIX 

*' I woke — Where was I ? — Do I see 
A human face look down on me ? 
And doth a roof above me close ? 
Do these limbs on a couch repose ? 
Is this a chamber where I lie ? 800 

And is it mortal yon bright eye^ 
That watches me with gentle glance ? 

I closed my own again once more, 
As doubtful that the former trance 

Could not as yet be o'er. - 805 

A slender girl, long-haired, and tall, 
Sate watching by the cottage wall. 
The sparkle of her eye I caught. 
Even with my first return of thought ; 
For ever and anon she threw 810 

A prying, pitying glance on me, 

With her black eyes so wild and free. 
I gazed, and gazed, until I knew 

No vision it could be, — 
But that I lived, and was released 815 

From adding to the vulture's feast. 
And when the Cossack maid beheld 
My heavy eyes at length unsealed, 
She smiled — and I essayed to speak, 

But failed — and she approached, and made 820 



120 LORD BYRON. 

With lip and finger signs that said, 
I must not strive as yet to break 
The silence, till my strength should be 
Enough to leave my accents free ; 
And then her hand on mine she laid, 825 

And smoothed the pillow for my head, 
And stole along on tiptoe tread, 

And gently oped the door, and spake 
In whispers — ne'er was voice so sweet ! 
Even music followed her light feet. 830 

But those she called were not awake, 
And she went forth ; but, ere she passed, 
Another look on me she cast, 

Another sign she made, to say. 
That I had naught to fear, that all 836 

Were near, at my command or call, 

And she would not delay 
Her due return : — while she was gone, 
Methought I felt too much alone. 

XX 

" She came with mother and with sire — 840 

What need of more ? — I will not tire 
With long recital of the rest. 
Since I became the Cossack's guest. 
They found me senseless on the plain. 

They bore me to the nearest hut, 846 

They brought me into life again, 
Me — one day o'er their realm to reign ! 



MAZEPPA. 121 

Thus the vain fool who strove to glut 
His rage, refining on my pain, 

Sent me forth to the wilderness, 850 

Bound, naked, bleeding, and alone, 
To pass the desert to a throne, — 

What mortal his own doom may guess ? 

Let none despond, let none despair ! 
To-morrow the Borysthenes 856 

May see our coursers graze at ease 
Upon his Turkish bank, — and never 
Had I such welcome for a river 

As I shall yield when safely there. 
Comrades, good night ! " — the hetman threw 8go 

His length beneath the oak-tree shade, 

With leafy couch already made, 
A bed nor comfortless nor new 
To him, who took his rest whene'er 
The hour arrived, no matter where : 865 

His eyes the hastening slumbers steep. 
And if ye marvel Charles forgot 
To thank his tale, he wondered not, — 

The king had been an hour asleep. 



NOTES. 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 

Links 1-4. What was the cause of Bonn ivard's gray hair ? Ex- 
plain the use of the singular verb in line 1, and that of the plural in 
line 4. 

6. Vile. "What is its etymology ? What figure in this line ? 
"What is its force? 

7. SpoU. Etymology? 

10. Note the meaning of banned. Cf. Wilhelm Tell, III. iv. : — 

" The trees are banned." 

11. This. For what other word ? 

17. "What change occurs in the metre in this line? How does it 
affect the style? To what line does this change extend ? 

20. Original ^IS., " Braving rancour — chains — and ragre." 
11-26. How do the statements in these lines compare with histor- 
ical facts? How much of what is related here might have been 
suggested by the story of Ugolino? See Introductory Note. 

27. "What metrical change in this line? Cf. line 29. 

28. See Introductory Note for dungeon. 

30. Light is admitted through narrow apertures. 
32. Crevice and the cleft. Note the alliteration. Compare the 
derivation and meaning of the two words. Is there any redundancy ? 

34. Creeping. "What noun does it modify? What is the gram- 
matical construction of the noun? 

35. Marsh's meteor lamp. The ignis fatuus, a flitting light, 
sometimes seen at night over marshes and in churchyards, supposed 
to be caused by the decomposition of vegetable or animal substances, 
or by inflammable gases. It is commonly known as " Jack o' Lan- 

123 



124 LOBB BTBON. 

tern," " Will o' the Wisp," and by the Welsh it is called " Corps©. 
Lights." Cf. Under the Old Elm, Lowell: — 

'• Wind-wavered corpse-lights, daughters of the fen." 
38. Cankering. Explain meaning. Cf. 2 Tim. ii. 17: — 
•'And their word will eat as doth a canker." 
Also, — 
'* Your gold and silver is cankered." — James v 3. 

41. This new day. To what period of Bonnivard's life does this 
refer? 

45. Score. Note the original signification. Give synonyms. 

53. Our. Substitute a word that more clearly expresses the 
meaning. 

57. Pure elements of earth. What were they ? 

65. Grating sound. Grammatical construction. 

66. Yore. Compare origin with that of year. 
70-71. Arrange in prose order. 

72. In his degree. Explain. 

82. A polar day. Grammatical construction. 

82-84. What fact is hero alluded to? 

85. What is the snow-clad offspring of the sun 7 

86. As. State the comparison introduced by this word. 

87. Is this line included in the comparison ? 
69-91. Classify the figures of speech in this stanza. 
92. As. Complete the comparison. 

95. Had. For what? 

94-97. Paraphrase. 

98. Spirit withered. Cf. : — 

" The life-withering marches of the locust." - De Quincey. 
102. Relics. Has this word its usual signification here? 
105. Gulf. Give a synonym of the word as used here. 
107-108. Several editions read : — 

" Lake Leman washes Chillon's walls." 
Lake Geneva, or Lake Leman as it is called by the majority of 
people inhabiting its shores, is the Lacus Lemanus of the Romans. 
It is about forty-five miles in length, and in width varies from one 
and a half to nine miles. The water is a very deep blue, and attains 
the depth of ten hundred and fifty-six feut toward tho eastern extrem- 



NOTES. 125 

ity, not far from Chillon, being eight hundred feet deep near the 
castle walls. 

109. Massy. Where used before in the poem? 
• 111. Sno^v--w^hite. The walls, once white, are now almost brown. 

112. Enthralls. Define accurately. What is its subject? Re- 
construct the line. 

115, In reality the water never rises to within four or five feet of 
the dungeon floor. 

121. Wanton. Verb or ad jective ? 

124-125. See . . . death. What figure in this sentence? 

129. Coarse and rude. Is there a redundancy ? 

131. For the like. Explain. 

141. Had. Cf. line 95. 

142. Had. Note difference of meaning in this and the above lina 
144. MS., "But why withhold the blow— he died." 

148. MS., " To break or bite my bonds in twain." 
152-157. Cf. Tennyson's In Memoriam, XVIII. 
155. Wrought. Etymology? 
157. Paraphrase this passage from line 145. 

163. What quality of style predominates in these lines, beginning 
with line 144? 

164. What words are in apposition with he in this and succeeding 
lines? 

166. Mother's image. Grammatical construction. 

168. Thought. What figure of speech? 

173. Explain. 

175. Cf. line 98. Note the alliteration. 

176-185. Classify the figures. 

186. Faded. Cf. flower, line 164 ; and withered, line 175. 

187-188. Note the alliteration. What is its effect? 

189. How many were left ? Note the delicacy of this use of those. 

194. Supply another word for transparent. 

195. What figure ? 
215-217. Explain. 

217. Failing race. Cf . Victor Hugo's Ruy Blaa : — 

" Famille qui s'en va" (a failing house). 

218. "The gentle decay and gradual extinction of the youngest 
life is the most beautiful passage in the poem." — Jeffrey. 



126 LOUD BYBON. 

How much of the beauty of this passage is due to the thoujjht? 
How much to the style? In what does the beauty of the style con- 
sist ? Characterize briefly the two brothers. 

230. Selfish death. Paraphrase, 

233. Does this have reference to the period following his brother's 
death ? 

235-236. Is this paralysis of the senses a natural result of intensity 
of grief? 

249. Does not stagnant, in sense, belong to sea? 

250. What is the propriety of the several adjectives in this line? 
231-250. What makes this passage so graphic ? 

252, et seq. Compare with these lines the effect of spring upon 

Tennyson's grief: — 

" And in thy breast 
Spring wakens too : and nriy regret 
Becomes an April violet, 
And buds and blossoms like the rest." 

263. Glimmer. Etymology? 

271-272. Like . . . likeness. Are these words synonymous? 

282. What figure in this line? 

285. Heaven forgive that thought. Why? 

2Si, 295, et seq. Which of the two similes is more forcible? State 
your reason. 

303. Inured. Etymology ? 

311. In what respect does this line not conform to the English of 
to-day? 

327. Does had have the same meaning here as in line 141 ? 

328. Is curious used here in its usual sense? 

334. The Dent du Midi, which is covered with perpetual snow, can 
be seen from the dungeon. 

336. The color of the Rhone as it enters the lake is aptly described 
by Schiller's term, " glacier milk." It is, however, a very deep blue 
as it leaves the lake. 

337. There is a small torrent just south of the castle which descends 
very precipitously. It is now utilized for water-power. 

339. White-wall'd distant town. Villeneuve, an old Roman 
town, about a mile south of Chillon. The old gate is still standing. 

-341-346. " Between the entrances of the Rhone and Villeneuve. 
not far from Chillon, is a very small island, the only one I could per- 



NOTES. 127 

ceive in my voyage round and over the lake, within its circumference. 
It contains a few small trees (I think not above three), and from the 
singular and diminutive size has a peculiar effect on the view." — 
Byron. 

These three trees are still standing, or have been replaced, and are 
easily discernible from the castle. 

332-355. What is the effect of this introduction of nature into the 
poem? 

365, 366. How do these lines compare with actual facts? 

374. Cf. In, Memoriam, II. : — 

** O sorrow, wilt thou live with me. 
No casual mistress, but a wife. 
My bosom friend and half of life : 
As T confess it needs must be?" 

382. Is sullen used here in its usual sense? Cf. the following: — 
" No cheerful breeze this sullen region knows." — Pope. 

390. Communion. Etymology? 

391. Even I. Does the rhythmic accent coincide with the natural 
accent? Is the thought obscured by this order? 

QUESTIONS ON CHILLON. 
Stanza I. 

1 . What is the effect of the first line of the poem upon our interest? 

2. What sort of story are we led to expect from the facts given 
in the first lines? 

3. What would have been the difference in force, had the story 
been written in the third person? 

4. By what suggestions does the author manage to enlist our 
sympathy as well as our interest? 

5. What period in history is naturally suggested by the religious 
nature of the persecution? 

6. What touches in this first stanza make the story seem realistic? 

7. What things are distinctly romantic? 

8. AVhat is the purpose of the author in making the Prisoner 
speak of his father's faith instead of his own? 

9. Why have the members of the speaker's family die by such 
various deaths? 



V2S LORD BYRON. 

10. What sort of appearance has the Prisoner, judging from the 
hints given in the first stanza — how old? how tall? how feeble? 

11. As we finish stanza one, what are we anxious to hear about 
next? What do we expect? 

Stanza IL, line 27. 

12. How much does the change in metre in line 27 help to em- 
phasize the change of subject? 

13. What historical period comes into our minds with the de- 
scription of the castle? 

14. How far are the impressions given by the author about time 
and place in accordance with facts? 

15. Wliat elements in this stanza are romantic? 

16. How do these romantic touches affect our pleasure in the 
poem? Give reasons for answer. 

17. By what means does the author impress us with the idea 
of the gloom in the dungeon? 

18. With what statement does the speaker definitely connect his 
sufferings with the castle? 

19. Are we interested in the castle more for its own sake before 
this connection is made? 

20. Does this greatly change the cause of our interest? 

21. What new information do we get in this stanza about the 
personal appearance of the speaker? 

22. To what are we led to look forward? 

Stanza III., line 48. 

23. Did Byron improve the story or not, by giving the Prisoner 
brothers to share his captivity? 

24. What feeling is aroused in the first five lines? Is the picture 
pathetic or simply gloomy? Reasons for answer. 

25. What was the nature of the affection of the three brothers 
for each other? 

26. Wliat effect has this affection upon our attitude toward them? 

27. What romantic elements in this stanza? 

28. How much actual story does the author give? 

29. Wliat things does he make you imagine by mentioning effects 
produced upon the three? 

30. What effect does the telling of his story seem to have upon 
the Prisoner? 



NOTES. 129 

Stanza IV., line 69. 

31. What in the Prisoner's feeling for his two brothers comes 
from the fact that he is the eldest? 

32. How does the mention of the mother in connection with 
the youngest affect our feeling for him? 

33. What does this touch add to the poem? 

34. What is your conception of the appearance, age, etc., of this 
youngest brother? 

35. Mention some traits of his character. 

36. What propriety is there in the introduction of the nature 
touches in this stanza? 

Stanza V., line 93. 

37. What quality of mind was possessed by the younger brothers 
in common? 

38. What sort of appeal does this quality in the two brothers 
make upon our feelings? 

39. Which of these two brothers seems to you to have the stronger 
character? Why? 

40. Which do you think would endure confinement longer? Why? 

41. What reference in line 102 makes the picture more realistic, 
more significant? 

42. Amplify the contrast between life in the dungeon and that 
upon the hills. 

43. Draw a contrast between the two brothers. 

Stanza VI., line 107. 

44. Why does the author here break off from his story of the 
two brothers? 

45. Can you see any effect that it has upon the story of their 
suffering? If so, what? 

46. In what way has the author departed from the facts in this 
stanza? 

47. Has he made the account more interesting by doing so? 
Reason for answer. 

Stanza VII., line 126. 

48. Why did the "nearer brother" loath and put away his food? 

49. What quality of character is shown in his want of care about 
his food? 

50. How does the author manage to keep always before us the 



130 LOBB BYRON. 

contrast between the prison life of the brothers and their previous 
freedom? 

51. What additional hints do we get in this stanza about the 
Prisoner — his thoughts, feelings, and character in general? 

52. What opinions or feelings of his own does the author express 
in this stanza? 

53. What part of this stanza is pathetic? 

Stanza VIIL, line 164. 

54. Why is the decline of this " favorite" brother more pathetic 
than that of the other? 

55. Do you agree with the remarks of Jeffry, quoted in the notes, 
that this is the most beautiful passage in the poem? Give reasons 
for answer. 

56. What does the Prisoner's anxiety for this brother suggest 
about his own character? 

57. What do you think to be the cause of this decline in the 
youngest brother? 

58. What are the dominant traits of character suggested here of 
this brother? 

59. For which is our sympathy deepest through the first half of 
this stanza? In the second half? 

60. How does the author shift our sympathy? 

61. Why does he do so at this point? 

Stanza IX., line 231. 

62. How does the death of the youngest brother affect the Pris- 
oner? Why? 

63. What enabled the Prisoner to survive the same conditions 
that killed the other? 

64. How far does this stanza help to explain the process by which 
the Prisoner became what we find him at the beginning of the poem? 

C5. Is the Prisoner's condition in any way similar to that of Dr. 
Mannette in The Tale of Two Cities? 

Stanza X., line 251. 

66. Draw a contrast between the scene within the dungeon and 
that which would naturally be suggested by the "carol of a bird." 

67. What is the effect upon the Prisoner's sorrow? 

68. How far does it suggest to the reader a turn in the affairs 
of the Prisoner? 



NOTES. 131 

69. Discuss the general effect upon the poem of this introduction 
of nature. 

70. What quaUties of character are suggested of the Prisoner 
in this stanza? 

Stanza XL, line 300. 

71. Compare this stanza and tlie preceding with respect to narra- 
tive and descriptive elements. 

72. In what ways is the Prisoner's condition more hopeful? 

Stanza XII., line 318. 

73. Show how the occupations of the Prisoner here are a nearer ap- 
proach toward liberty. 

74. Why does the Prisoner turn first to the mountains? 

75. Does this stanza imply that he is resigned to spend the re- 
mainder of his life in prison? 

Stanza XIIL 

76. Why does the author reserve these descriptions of nature 
till the last? Observe how the interest of the Prisoner grows in 
external nature until he is at last freed. 

77. What effect upon his desire for liberty had the Prisoner's 
return from the window slit? 

78. Show by what means the kindly nature of the Prisoner is 
emphasized in this last stanza. 

SPAIN. 

Line 2. Palagio, or Pelayo, a scion of the royal Yisi-Gothic line, 
was the first Christian king in Spain after the invasion of the Moors. 
At the approach of the Moslems he retreated to the fastnesses of 
the Asturias, and there maintained himself against them in several 
pitched battles. Christians of surrounding districts flocked to his 
standard, and he was acknowledged sovereign. He died in 737. 
From him is traced the genealogy of the royal family of Spain. 

3. Cava's traitor-sire. Count Julian, a lieutenant of the 
Gothic army, who, in revenge for the outrage done his daughter by 
King Roderic, formed an alliance with the Moors to invade Spain. 
Cava, or Caba, is called the Helen of Spain. 

8. Red gleamed the cross. A red cross was the emblem of 
Christianity during the Middle Ages. Pale is an epithet usually 
applied to the crescent. 



132 LORD BYRON. 

10. The early popular poetry of Spain was unequalled in Europe. 

13. Date. Duration of fame. Ttiis use of the word is common 
in Shakespeare. 

23. This line refers to the introduction of gunpowder into war- 
fare. 

27. Andalusia's shore. Andalusia is the largest and richest 
province of Spain. Here the Moors founded a splendid monarchy, 
which quickly attained a high degree of civilization. Learning, art, 
chivalry, industry, and commerce flourished here very early. So 
important did the province become that its name was applied to all 
of Spain, and is still generally so used by the poets. 

33. Bale-fires. Refers here to the flash of battle. See Diction- 
ary for derivation and meaning of the word. 

35. Siroc. The sirocco is an extremely enervating wind from the 
Libyan deserts, felt along the south of Europe. Refers here to the 
fumes of powder. 

SOLITUDE. 

Line 1. Flood and fell. Note this common form of alliteration. 
Derivation and meaning of fell. 

8. This is not solitude. Cf., The Ocean, lines 1-4. 
18. With this stanza cf. Bacon's Of Friendship : — 
** For a crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pic- 
tures, and talk is but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love." 

LEUCADIA. 

Like 1. Byron sailed from Malta the 21st of September, 1809, and 
landed at Previsa, Sept. 29. 

The barren spot. Ithaca, the smallest but one of the Ionian 
Islands, is noted as the home of Ulysses. Its surface is mountainous, 
and hence its barren appearance. 

2. Penelope. The faithful wife of Ulysses. See Classical Dic- 
tionary. Byron passed Ithaca, Sept. 24. 

3. The mount. The Leucadian rock, or Lover's Leap, where 
disappointed lovers ended their grief by jumping into the sea. 

4. The Lesbian's grave. It has been claimed by some author- 
ities that Sappho, the great Greek poetess, made the " Lover's Leap " 
from the Leucadian rock. Sappho was born at Mytilene, the island 
of Lesbos, in the latter part of the seventh century B.C. 



NOTES. 133 

5. Dark Sappho. "The epithet implies prof ound, mysterious 
feeling." — Tozer. 

14. The battle of Actium, in which Augustus Caesar defeated 
Mark Antony and Cleopatra, took place in 31 b.c. The battle of 
Lepanto was a naval engagement, fought in 1571, between the com- 
bined fleets of Spain, Venice, Genoa, Malta, and the Papal States on 
the one side, and the entire maritime power of the Turks on the 
other. The Christians lost three thousand killed, while the loss of 
the Turks was over thirty thousand killed and wounded. In the 
battle of Trafalgar, Lord Nelson, the greatest of English admirals, 
fought the combined fleets of France and Spain. The English were 
victorious, but Nelson was slain. 

16. Explain the reference to astrology in this line. 

25. Melancholy. Explain the application of this word. 

GREECE. 
Line 1. Sad relic, Cf. The Prisoner of Chillon, 1. 102 : — 
" Those relics of a home so dear." 
7. Thermopylai is the famous pass leading from Locris into 
Thessaly, where Leonidas and three hundred Spartans tried to check 
the Persian invasion in 480 b.c. The Spartans were betrayed by 
one of their number, and all were slain. 

9. The Eurotas, one of the rivers to which the Greeks per- 
formed divine rites, rises in the Arcadian mountains, and flows into 
the Gulf of Laconia. It is mentioned here because the city of 
Sparta is situated on its banks. 

10. Phyle. A fortress commanding a pass of the same name 
conducting into Attica from Boeotia. 

11. Thrasybulus was an Athenian general who was expelled 
from Athens by the Thirty Tyrants. With the aid of a Theban 
force, he took Phyle, and from that place began operations against 
the Thirty, whom he expelled. In 403 b.c. he re-established the 
democracy. 

15. Carle. Churl, rustic, countryman. 

17- Turkish hand. To what historical events does Byron allude 
in this poem ? 

19. With this line cf . Isles of Greece : — 

" But all except their sun is set." 

26. What does solely mean hero ? 



134 LORD BYBON. 

31. Why are the French and Russians called Gauls and Musco- 
vites respectively? 

34. Helots. The serfs or slaves of the Spartans ; hence the latter, 
who oppressed them, were regarded as their enemies. How may the 
" shades of the Helots " now triumph over their foe ? 

37. Allah. Literally the " Worthy-to-be-adored," the Arabic 
name for God. Giaour, meaning infidel or unfaithful, was applied 
by the Mahometans to all who did not believe in the Prophet, and 
especially to Christians. Here it stands for the Christians. 

38. Othman's race. Othman was the founder of the Turkish 
dynasty. The term Ottoman is applied to people, empire, and 
monarch. 

39. Serai. The Seraglio, the palace of the Sultan, which ordi- 
nary mortals cannot enter. 

41. Wahab was the founder of the sect of Wahabites, whose 
purpose it was to restore Islamism to the literal teachings of the 
Koran. The followers of Wahab sacked both Mecca and Medina in 
1803 ahd 1804. 

4G. Lacedsemon is another name for Sparta. Another allusion 
to the three hundred Spartans. 

47. For Thebes and Epaminondas see Classical Dictionary . 

57. Thy vales . . . snovr. "On many of the mountains, par- 
ticularly Liakura, the snow never is entirely melted ; but I never 
saw it lie on the plains, even in winter." — Byron. 

65. Prostrate brethren of the cave. " Of Mount Pentelicus, 
from whence the marble was dug that constructed the public edifices 
of Athens. The modern name is Mount Mendeli. An immense cave 
formed by the quarries still remains, and will till the end of time." 
— Byron. 

66. Tritonla's airy shrine. Tritona is a name of Minerva. 
There are the ruins of a once splendid temple of the goddess on the 
promontory of Sunium, or Cape Colonna as it was long called, be- 
cause of its ruins, Cf. The Isles of Greece : — 

" Place me on Sunium's marbled steep." 

71. Only not. All but, almost. Cf. Childe Harold, I. vii. 3: — 

" So old it seemM only not to fall." 

75. Thine olive. The olive was given to Attica by Minerva. 



NOTES. 135 

7G. Mount Hymettus, in Attica near Athens, has always been 
famous for its honey. 

79. Apollo. See Classical Dictionary. 

90. Athena's tower. The Parthenon. Explain the thought in 
this line. 

LEAVING ENGLAND FOR THE LAST TIME. 

Line 2. These are the opening stanzas of Canto III. of Childe 
Harold. Byron left England this time in 1816 ; hence it will be seen 
that this and following selections from Childe Harold were written 
about six years later than the preceding. Many changes in style are 
to be noted. 

Ada. She was bom Dec. 10, 1815. In a letter to Moore, dated 
Jan. 5, 1816, Byron says: "The little girl was born on the 10th of 
December last ; her name is Augusta Ada (the second a very antique 
family name — I believe not used since the reign of King John). 
She was and is very flourishing and fat, and is reckoned very large 
for her days — squalls and sucks incessantly." Lady Byron left the 
poet in January, when Ada was only five weeks old, and Byron never 
saw the child afterward. 

5. Notice the break in the thought in this line. Is this common 
to the earlier stanzas? Are periods to be found in the middle of the 
line in earlier cantos ? 

8-9. Can you give any reason for Byron's feeling as these lines 
imply. 

9. Albion. A very ancient name of Britain, used as early as 
the 5th century B.C. by Festus Avienus in his record of the voyage of 
Hamilcar. Aristotle also used the word in his Treatise of the World. 
The inhabitants were called Albiones. 

11. As a steed. Moore cites the following : — 

" O, never 
Shall we two exercise, like twins of honor, 
Our arms again, and feel our fiery horses 
Like proud seas under us." 

16. As a weed. How much does this simile express? 



136 LORD BTBON. 



WATERLOO. 



Line 1. The battle of "Waterloo occurred June 18, 1816 ; but the 
reference in tliis stanza is to events of the evening which preceded 
the preliminary engagement at Quatre-Bras, vrhich took place June 
lli. In her introduction to the History of Peace Miss Martineau says : 
'* It was on the evening of the 15th that Wellington received the 
news at Brussels of the whereabouts of the French. He instantly 
perceived that the object was to separate his force from the Prussians. 
Ho sent off orders to his troops in every direction to march upon 
Quatre-Bras. This done, he dressed and went to a ball, where none 
would have discovered from his manner that he had heard any re- 
markable news. It was whispered about the rooms, however, that 
the French were not far off; and some officers dropped off in the 
course of the evening — called by their duty, and leaving heavy 
hearts behind them. Many parted so who never met again. It was 
about midnight when the general officers were summoned. Some- 
what later the younger officers were very quietly called away from 
their partners ; and by sunrise of the summer morning of the 16th all 
were on the march." 

11. Car. What kind of car was this? 

16. Give an exposition of this line. 

20. Bruns^vick's fated chieftain. The Duke of Brunswick, 
who was killed at the battle of Quntre-Bras, where Wellington pur- 
chased victory with five thousand two hundred soldiers. 

25. His father. He fell in the battle of Auerstjidt, Oct. 14, 1806, 
while in command of the Prussians, who were defeated by the French 
under Davout. On the same day Napoleon defeated the main body 
of the Prussians at Jena. 

27. " This stanza is very grand, even from its total unadomment. 
It is only a versification of the common narratives; but here may 
well be applied a position of Johnson, that ' where truth is sufficient 
to fill the mind, fiction is worse than useless.' " — Sir E. Brydges. 

46. "Cameron's gathering." The slogan of the clan of the 
Camerons. 

48. LiOchieL The "gentle Lochiel" was Donald, the most noted 
of the Camerons. He was a descendant of Evan. Albyn is an 
ancient Gaelic name of Scotland. 



NOTES. 137 

64. Evan Cameron (1030-1719) was called the Ulysses of the 
Highlands. 

55. Ardennes. " The wood of Soignies is supposed to be a rem- 
nant of the forest of Ardennes, famous in Boiardo's Orlando, and 
immortal in Shakespeare's As You Like It. It is also celebrated in 
Tacitus, as being the spot of successful defence by the Germans 
against the Roman encroachments. I have ventured to adopt the 
name connected with nobler associations than those of mere slaugh- 
ter." — Byron. 

72. " Childe Harold, though he shuns to celebrate the victory of 
"Waterloo, gives us here a most beautiful description of the evening 
which preceded the battle of Quatre-Bras, the alarm which called 
out the troops, and the hurry and confusion which preceded their 
march. I am not sure that any verses in our language surpass, in 
vigor and in feeling, this most beautiful description." — Sir Walter 
Scott. 

THE DRACHENFELS. 

LmB 1, The Drachenfels, or Dragon Rock, on which stand the 
picturesque ruins of a mediaeval castle, is the most famous of the 
Seven Mountains, and the highest (ten hundred and fifty-six feet) 
peak overlooking the Rhine. The dragon's cave is yet to be seen 
half way up the slope, which is covered with vineyards. These verses 
were written in May, 1816. 

7. The view from the Drachenfels extends up the river as far as 
Bonn, and down it to Cologne. 

10. Tliou. These stanzas were addressed to Byron's sister Au- 
gusta. Study them for information about the poet's regard for her. 



LAKE LEMAN. 

Lines 1-4. " I this day (July 20, 1815) observed for some time the 
distinct reflection of Mont Blanc and Mont Argentiere in the calm 
of the lake, which I was crossing in my boat; the distance of these 
mountains from their mirror is sixty miles." — Byron. 

13. It. What is the antecedent? Explain the figure in this line, 

14-15. Where . . . infection. Paraphrase. 



138 LORD BYRON. 

16. Is coil used here in the same sense as in Hamlet ? 
•• When we have shuflfled off this mortal coil," 
or, in the following : — 

'• Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil 
Would not infect his reason?" 

20. Fatal. Why? 

26. Wanderers o'er Eternity. From this Shelley gave Byron 
the name of " "Wanderer of Eternity." Adonais, XXX. 

30. "The color of the Rhone at Geneva is blue to a depth of 
tint which I have never seen equalled in water, salt or fresh, except 
in the Mediterranean or Archipelago." — Byron. Cf. Chillon, note 
336. 

39. High mountains are a feeling. Cf . Wordsworth : — 

" The mountains, and the deep and gloomy wood, 

Their colors and their form, were then to me 

An appetite, a feeling, and a love." — Tlntern Abbey. 

44-45. With these lines compare the following from the Siege of 

Corinth : — 

" Who ever gazed upon them shining. 
And turned to earth without repining, 
Nor wished for wings to flee away, 
And mix with their eternal ray?" 

46-47. Compare these lines with Solitude, before. 

54. Clay-cold bonds. Cf. Cymheline, V. iv. 28: — 

*' And cancel these cold bonds," 

55. Rolfe quotes Tozer's note on this passage: "The feeling of 
antagonism between the flesh and spirit which Byron expresses in 
this passage is the same which appears in Manichaiism, in extrava- 
gant asceticism, and in other wild forms of philosophical and reli- 
gious opinion. But the mystical, half-pantheistic views which are 
expressed throughout this part of the poem hardly amount to any- 
thing more definite than the ' feeling infinite ' of III. xc. 1, together 
with the poetic longing to be identified with what is sublime and 
beautiful in nature. Their greater prominence in this part of Childe 
Harold (though similar opinions are stated more obscurely elsewhere) 
is attributable to Byron's having now, for the first time, seen the 
Alps under circumstances which caused them to exercise a peculiar 



NOTES. 139 

influence over him, and also to his having been in Shelley's com- 
pany." 

73. The sweetness and harmony of this passage is not common 
with Byron. The poet made the tour of the lake in a boat with 
Shelley. This may in a measure account for it. 

Thy contrasted lake, etc. Thy lake contrasted with, etc. 

85. Jura. The Jura Mountains are distant from the lake, but 
can generally be seen very distinctly from any part of it. 

86. Drawing near. As we draw near. 

91-92. Makes his life an infancy. What figure of speech? 
Show wherein the likeness lies. 
99. Spirit of her hues. Explain. 

100. This storm, Byron tells us, occurred on the 13th of June, 
He says of it: ** I have seen among the Acroceraunian mountains of 
Chimari several more terrible, but none more beautiful." 

108. The joyous Alps. " Perchance the finest thing in this 
famous passage is the element of Titanic revelry which is introduced 
into it, — 'joyous Alps,' 'fierce delight,' 'glee,' 'mountain-mirth,' 
'play.' " — TozER. 

117. "This is one of the most beautiful passages of the poem. 
The ' fierce and far delight ' of a thunder-storm is here described in 
verse almost as vivid as its lightnings. The ' live thunder ' leaping 
among the crags — the voice of mountains, as if shouting to each 
other — the splashing of the big rain — the gleaming of the wide 
lake, lighted like a phosphoric sea — present a picture of sublime 
terror, yet of enjoyment, often attempted, but never so well, cer- 
tainly never better, brought out in poetry." — Sir "Walter Scott. 

118. The swift Rhone cleaves. Cf . 30 : — 

" By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone." 

141. Of what in me is sleepless. In the Journal of his Swiss 
Tour, Byron wrote: "I was disposed to be pleased. I am a lover 
of nature, and an admirer of beauty. I can bear fatigue, and welcome 
privation, and have seen some of the noblest views in the world. 
But in all this . . . the recollection of bitterness, and more espe- 
cially of recent and more home desolation, which must accompany 
me through life, has preyed upon me here ; and neither the music of 
the shepherd, the crashing of the avalanche, nor the torrent, the 
mountain, the glacier, the forest, nor the cloud, have for one moment 



140 LORD BTBON, 

lightened the weight upon my heart, nor enahled me to lose my 
wretched identity in the majesty, and the power, and the glory 
around, ahove, and beneath me." 

144. The sweetness and beauty of these stanzas are doubtless in 
a great measure due to the effect of the beauty and grandeur of the 
natural scenery upon Byron's distempered mind. Says Vulliemin: 
"It seemed to him [Byron] that nature was smiling upon him for 
the first time. His heart was lightened." 



CLARENS. 

Line 1. ClarensI " The feeling with which all around Clarens, 
and the opposite rocks of Meillerie, is invested, is of a still higher 
and more comprehensive order than the mere sympathy with individ- 
ual passion ; it is a sense of the existence of love in its most extended 
and sublime capacity, and of our own participation in its good and of 
its glory; it is the great principle of the universe, which is there 
more condensed, but not less manifested ; and of which, though 
knowing ourselves a part, we lose our individuality, and mingle in 
the beauty of the whole." — Byron. 

27. A populous solitude. Cf. Solitude, 10-19, and note. 

50. Love his Psyche's zone. An allusion to the legend of Cupid 
and Psyche. 

VENICE. 

Line 1. The Bridge of Sighs. A covered passage connecting 
the Ducal Palace and the State Prison, over which the prisoners 
passed to imprisonment or execution. 

8. Winged Lion's. The emblem of Venice was the Lion of 
St. Mark's. See below, 41. 

9. Hundred isles. The city is built on one hundred and seven- 
teen islands, all but three of which are small. 

10. She loolcs a sea Cybele. ' * Sabellicus, describing the appear- 
ance of Venice, has made use of the above figure, which would not 
be poetical were it not true." — Byron. Rhea Cybele was goddess 
of the earth, with its forests and mountains, and was sometimes repre- 
sented with a turreted crown. 

19. Tasso's echoes. " The well-known song of the gondoliers, 



NOTES. 141 

of alternate stanzas, from Tasso's Jerusalem, has died with the inde- 
pendence of Venice. Editions of the poem, with the original on one 
column and the Venetian variations on the other, as sung by the 
boatmen, were once common, and are still to be found." — Byron. 

27. 3Iasque. Revel, masquerade, carnival. 

33. Rialto. NottheRialtoof Shakespeare, but the bridge leading 
to it. 

Shylock of the Merchant of Venice. The Moor is Othello. 
Pierre is the leading character of Otway's Venice Preserved. 

37. The spouseless Adriatic. The Doge of Venice used annu- 
ally, on Ascension Day, to wed the city to the Adriatic. The cere- 
mony was performed on the Bucentaur, the state galley, which was 
employed only on this occasion. The Doge dropped a ring into the 
sea with these words: " We wed thee with this ring in token of our 
true and perpetual sovereignty." 

41. St. Mark was the patron saint of Venice. The lion stood 
across the Place, facing the cathedral. 

43. Where an Emperor sued. On this Place Frederic Barba- 
rossa recognized Alexander III. as Pope. Cf. Machiavelli's History 
of Florence : "In the meantime Frederic was returned into Italy, 
with resolution to make a new war upon the Pope ; but whilst he was 
busy about his preparations, his Barons and Clergy gave him adver- 
tisement that they would all forsake him unless he reconciled him- 
self to the Church ; so that, changing his design, he was forced to go 
and make his submission at Venice." This took place in 1177. 

50. Allusion is made to Mrs. Radcliffe's Mysteries of Udolpho and 
to Schiller's Geisterseher. 

THE OCEAN. 

These are the closing stanzas but two of Childe Harold. 

Line 8. To mingle with the Universe. Cf . Canto III. Ixxii. : — 

" "When the soul can flee 

And with the sky, the peak, the heaving plain 

Of ocean, or the stars, mingle, and not in vain." 

15. Save his own. That is, the ravage of himself. 
27. There let him lay. "What is to become of grammar if a 
popular poet is to close a stanza with such a barbarism ? " — Hodgson. 



142 LOBD BYIiON. 

35. Yeast of waves. Shakespeare has in Macbeth "the yeasty 
waves." 

36. The Armada's pride. Of the one hundred and thirty ves- 
sels of the Armada sent out by Philip II. of Spain to invade Eng- 
land, only fifty-three returned, having twice encountered a tempest. 
Nearly all of the nineteen ships taken by the English in the battle 
of Trafalgar were destroyed by a tempest. 

39. Thy waters w^ashcd them pow^er. In what way ? 

40. Of what is tyrant object? 

55. " This passage would, perhaps, be read without emotion, if 
we did not know that Lord Byron was here describing his actual 
feelings and habits, and that this was an unaffected picture of his 
propensities and amusements even from childhood, while he listened 
to the roar, and watched the bursts of the northern ocean on the 
tempestuous shores of Aberdeenshire." — Sik E. Brydges. 

"At Lisbon, Byron, who even when at Harrow was a famous 
swimmer, and when at Cambridge had won a wager by swimming 
three miles in the Thames, swam across to the old castle of Beiem." 
— Nathan Haskell Dole. 

While in Italy, Byron swam from Lido to Venice, and the length 
of the Grand Canal in addition, being in the water four hours and 
twenty minutes. He also swam across the Hellespont, from Sestos 
to Abydos, in 1810. 

63. As I do here. This apostrophe was begun on the "Alban 
Mount; " but the poet is. or supposes himself to be, near the sea as 
he closes it. 

A GRECIAN SUNSET. 

These lines were written in the spring of 1811 among the hills of 
the Morea, and formed a part of The Curse of Minerva, but were 
afterwards made the opening stanzas of Canto III. of the Corsair, 
published in 1814. 

Line 2. Morea's hills. Morea is the modern name of the ancient 
Peloponnesus ; it consists of the nomarchies of Argolis, Corinth, La- 
conia, Messenia, Arcadia, Achaia, and Elis. 

7. .^gina's rock, ^gina, or Egina, is a rocky island in the 
gulf of the same name, between the Morea and Attica. The fleet of 
Egina distinguished itself in the battle of Salamis. 



NOTES. 143 

Hydra's isle. Hydra is a steep, rocky>isle just off the coast 
of the nomarchy of Corinth. 

9. His own regions. Why? 

12. Thy glorious gulf. The island of Salamis, with its little 
gulf, is directly east of Corinth, in the Gulf of Egina. Here the 
fleet of Xerxes, consisting of one thousand ships, was defeated and 
scattered, two hundred of them heing destroyed, and many others 
captured, by a Greek fleet of three hundred and sixty vessels. 

18. Delphian rock. The temple and town of Delphi were situ- 
ated at the southern extremity of Mount Parnassus, in Phocis. The 
modern name of the town is Castri. 

20. Thy wisest. Socrates. 

22. That closed . . . day. ''Socrates drank the hemlock a short 
time before sunset (the hour of execution), notwithstanding the en- 
treaties of his disciples to wait till the sun went down." — Byron. 

28. Phoebus. The bright, radiant. It was a name of Apollo, 
the sun god, and had reference both to the beauty of the god and to 
the brightness of the sun. Here it means the sun. 

29. Citheron's head. The highest peak (four thousand six hun- 
dred feet) of the Cithaeron Mountains, between Boeotia and Attica, 
now called Elatea. 

33. Mount Hymettus is a little southeast of Athens. 

34. The queen of night. "The twilight in Greece is much 
shorter than in our own country; the days in winter are longer, but 
in summer of shorter duration." — Byron. 

42. Cephisus. A stream or fountain in Athens, where Theseus 
was purified from the taint of bloodshed. 

44. The gleaming . . . kiosk. "The kiosk is a Turkish sum- 
mer-house. The palm is without the present walls of Athens, not 
far from the temple of Theseus, between which and the tree the wall 
intervenes. . . . Cephisus' stream is indeed scanty, and Ilissus has 
no stream at all." — Byron. 

46. Theseus' fane. The Theseum. For story of Theseus see 
Classical Dictionary . 

GREECE. 

The following is from the Giaour, published in 1811. 

Line 2. Blessed isles. A reference to an old Greek myth, ac- 



144 ■ LORD BYRON. 

cording to which the ** Island of the Blessed, " situated toward the 
edge of the western ocean, were the ahode of the favorites of the gods 
after death. Here they possessed everything m abundance. Cf. The 
Isles of Greece: 

" Than your sires' Islands of the Blest." 
3. Colonna's height. Cape Colonna, or the promontory of Su- 
nium. Cf. Greece before, 66 and note. 

16. Sultana of the Nightingale. " The attachment of the night- 
ingale to the rose is a well-known Persian fable. If I mistake not, the 
' Bubel of a Thousand Tales ' is one of his appellations." — Byron. 

34. Till . . . guitar. " The guitar is the constant companion of 
the Greek sailor by night; with a steady, fair wind, and during a 
calm, it is accompanied by the voice, and often by dancing." — 
Byron. 

75. Where cold Obstruction's apathy. Cf. Measure for Meas- 
ure, HI. i., 11. 118, 119: — 

"Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; 
To lie in cold obstruction." 

86. With this line cf . The Prisoner of Chillon, 187 : — 

"So softly worn, so sweetly meek." 
103. Thermopylse. The pass where Leonidas and the three hun- 
dred Spartans fell, opposing the advance of the army of Xerxes into 
Greece, in 480 B.C. See Classical Dictionary . 
106. Salamis. See Grecian Sunset, note 12. 

ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 

Line 26. Pagod. Shortened form of pagoda. It generally means 
the temple, but sometimes, as here, refers to the idol. 

29. Rapture of the strife. " ' Certanmiis gaudia.' The expres- 
sion of Attila in his harangue to his army previous to the battle of 
Chalons, given in Cassiodorus." — Byron. 

44. To die a prince, etc. Byron has, at the head of this piece, 
a quotation from Gibbon regarding the Emperor Nepos: "By this 
shameful abdication, he protracted his life a few years, in a very 
ambiguous state," etc. 

55. The Roman. Sulla. 

64. The Spaniard. Charles V., who abdicated in favor of his 
son, and retired to the monastery of Yuste, in Estremadura. 



NOTES, 145 

109. Austria's mournful flower. Empress Marie Louise. "From 
the double point of view of psychology and history," says De Saint- 
Amand, "it is a sad but curious task to study the gradations by 
which Empress Marie Louise was, little by little, transformed from 
a devoted and irreproachable Wife into a forgetful, faithless, and in- 
different one." 

125. Corinth's pedagogue. Diogenes, the Cynic. 

127. Timour. Better known as Tamerlane. He is said to have 
carried Bajazet, whom he had conquered, around in an iron cage 
built for that purpose. The story is, however, without trustworthy 
foundation. 

131. He of Babylon. Nebuchadnezzar. See Dan. iv. 31-33. 

136. Tlie thief of fire, etc. Prometheus. See Classical Dic- 
tionary. 

150. Marengo. Napoleon, with 40,000 French, defeated and 
routed 120,000 Austrians at Marengo, a town in northern Italy, in 1800. 

168. For the story of Cincinnatus see Cyclopsedla or Classical 
Dictionary. 

THE ISLES OF GREECE. 

Line 2. Sappho. For the classical allusions in this piece, unless 
otherwise explained, see Classical Dictionary. 

4. Delos was said to have been pulled up from the bottom of 
the sea by the trident of Neptune, and to have remained a floating 
island until Jupiter fastened it down with adamantine chains that it 
might be the birthplace of Diana and Apollo. 

7. Scian. Adjective from Scio, the modern name of the ancient 
Chios, one of the jjlaces claiming to be the birthplace of Homer. 

Teian. Adjective from Teos, a seaport town of Ionia, where 
Anacreon was born. 

13. The plain of Marathon is enclosed on three sides by rocky 
arms of Parnes and Peutelicus, and the fourth is open to the sea. 

19. A king sate. Xerxes. 

33. A patriot's shame. Greece was Byron's country by adoption. 

50. Samian. Samos is an island off the coast of Ionia, noted for 
its wine, as was also the island of Scio (line 52). 

55. PjTrrhic dance. A Grecian war-dance named after the great 
general, Pyrrhus. 



146 LORD BYBON. 

56. Pyrrhic phalanx. Also called the Macedonian phalanx. 

74. Sull's rock. Cf. Childe Harold, II. 42 : " Dark Suli's rocks." 
Suli, or Souli, is a town in the south of Epirus. It is in a wild, moun- 
tainous district about the river Acheron. 

Parga is a seaport town of Epirus, southeast of Souli. 

76. Doric. The Dorians were one of the four principal peoples 
of Greece. In early times they associated themselves with the Hera- 
cleidse, and made a conquest of the Peloponnesus. They were brave 
and warlike. 

78. Heracleidse. The descendants of Hercules. See Classical 
Dictionary . 

91. Sunium's marbled steep. Covered with the ruins of the 
temple of Minerva, which was built of marble taken from the quar- 
ries of Mount Mendeli. See Greece (2) and notes. 

AVE MARIA. 

These are stanzas from the close of Canto III. of Don Juan. 
Line 2. The spot. See below, lines 19 and 20. 

19-20. Ravenna is in the midst of a richly wooded plain which 
was once covered by the Adriatic. 

22. Boccaccio's lore. A reference to the story of Anastasio 
degli Ilonesti, or Onesti, in the Decameron of Boccaccio. Upon this 
tale Dryden founded his poem, Theodore and Honoria. The scene 
of the story is a pine wood just outside the city of Ravenna. 

29. Spectre huntsman. The following is Boccaccio's synopsis 
of the novel ; — 

Anastasio, a gentleman of the family of the Onesti, by loving the daugh- 
ter to Paolo Traversario, lavishly wasted a great part of his substance with- 
out receiving any love of her again. By persuasion of some of his kindred 
and friends, he went to a country dwelling of his at Chiassi, where he saw 
a knight desperately pursue a young damsel, whom he slew, and afterward 
gave her to be devoured by his hoiinds. Anastasio invited his friends, 
and her also whom he so dearly loved, to take part of a dinner with him, 
who likewise saw the same damsel so torn in pieces which, his unkind love 
perceiving, and fearing lest the like ill-fortune should happen to her, she 
accepted Anastasio to be her husband. 

49. Nero perished by his own hand. 



NOTES. 147 



NOTES TO MAZEPPA. 

This poem has its basis in historic fact. Jan Mazeppa, born about 
1645, was the son of a noble family, but was without property. 
He therefore entered the service of the king of Poland, John Casi- 
mir. Here he became entangled in an intrigue with the wife of a 
Polish nobleman, who caused Mazeppa to be stripped and bound 
to his own horse — not a wild horse — which carried him to his own 
home. Overcome with shame at his public disgrace, Mazeppa fled 
to Ukraine, where he joined the Cossacks, and by his bravery and, 
strength of character he attained distinction among them and was 
chosen their hetman in 16S7. Later he came into favor with Peter 
the Great, who, in addition to other marks of distinction, named 
him Prince of Ukraine. When Russia curtailed the freedom of the 
Cossacks, Mazeppa undertook to throw off the Russian yoke, and 
to do this, made overtures to Charles XII. of Sweden. These and 
other treasonable designs were discovered and many of Mazeppa 's 
friends were put to death. He himself joined Charles XII. and was 
with him in the battle of Pultowa. After this disaster to Charles, 
Mazeppa fled to Bender, where he died in 1709. Besides this poem 
of Byron's, Mazeppa 's story has been the subject of novels, plays, 
of a historical work, of a composition by Liszt, and of two paintings 
by the artist Horace Vernet. 

It will be seen that Byron has dealt very freely with the details of 
this story, just as he did in " The Prisoner of Chillon. " Tliis is partly 
due to the source from which the poet drew his information. The 
passages which Byron quoted in the advertisement to the poem 
when published, contained some of the same errors that are to be 
found in the poem. The passages referred to are from Voltaire's 
" History of Charles XII." Other details Byron varied to satisfy his 
love of the wildly rorhantic. 

1. Pultowa's day. The day of the disaster to the forces of 
Charles XII. at Pultowa or Pultova. The town contains a monu- 
ment commemorating the victory of Peter the Great, while three 
miles away there is a mound surmounted by a cross known as the 
"Swedish Tomb." 

3. Slaughtered army. The army consisted of 30,000 men. 
About half of this number were either slain or captured. Most of the 



148 LORD BYRON. 

remainder fled in a direction opposite to that taken by Charles, who 
was accompanied by 500 cavalrymen. 

8. Moscow's walls. Moscow was then the capital of Russia. 

9. Until a day, etc. This and following lines refer to the burning 
of Moscow by the Russians during the campaign of Napoleon against 
Russia in 1812. The French forces, compelled to retreat, were well- 
nigh destroyed by cold, famine, and the pursuing Russians. 

23. His horse, etc. "The king, fleeing and followed, had his 
horse shot from under him. Colonel Gieta, wounded and fainting 
from loss of blood, gave up his own. Thus this conqueror, who 
could not endure the saddle during the battle, was remounted twice 
during his flight." — Voltaire's " Plistory of Charles XII." 

30. A king must lay, etc. "To aggravate his disgrace, he 
(Charles XII.) lost his way in a wood during the night; thus, his 
courage being no longer able to supply his lost strength, the pain 
of his wounds being more unendurable through fatigue, and his 
horse having fallen from exhaustion, he rested several hours at the 
foot of a tree, in danger of being surprised at any moment by his 
conquerors, who were seeking him everywhere." — Voltaire's "His- 
tory of Charles XII." 

56. The Ukraine's hetman. Hetman is a Polish word, signi- 
fying commander-in-chief. The Ukraine is a district lying along 
the Dneiper, forming what is called Little Russia. The word origi- 
nally meant a frontier. 

58. The Cossack Prince. Mazeppa. See introductory note 
above. 

104. Bucephalus. The favorite horse of Alexander the Great, 
king of Macedonia. Both horse and master play a prominent part 
in the romance literature of the Middle Ages. 

105. All Sythia's fame. Sythia is a name given by the ancients 
to what is now southern Russia. It was inhabited by a wild roving 
people, noted for their horsemanship. 

116. Swift Borysthenes. The Greek name for what is now 
the Dneiper. 

126. My seventy years. Mazeppa was about sixty-five years 
of age at this time. 

135. Warsaw^'s diet. Warsaw was the capital of Poland; the 
diet, its general assembly. 

151. Mimers. Rude dramatic representations of a comic char- 



NOTES. 149 

acter, dating from the time of the Greeks. Much in favor for fete- 
days. 

155. A certain Palatine. All accounts of Mazeppa refer to 
this person simply as a Polish nobleman or gentleman. 

157. A salt or silver mine. " This comparison of a salt mine 
may, perhaps, be permitted to a Pole, as the wealth of his country 
consists greatly in salt mines." — Byron. 

354. 'Sdeath ! Shortened form of by His Death, an oath common 
in the 16th and 17th centuries. 

434. The Tartars. A wild and warlike race of Mongolians who 
overran southeastern Russia and Hungary in the 13th century, a 
large number of them settling along the Volga. After more than 
two centuries, they fled back to Asia. For a thrilling and romantic 
account of their flight, see De Quincey's "Flight of a Tartar Tribe." 

437. The Spahi was a Turkish cavalryman. 

619. Ignis-fatuus. See note on line 35, " Prisoner of Chillon," 

664. Werst or verst is a Russian measure of distance, nearly 
corresponding to the kilometer, or about three-eighths of a mile. 

738. Wassail, wine. Cf. " Macbeth," I. VII., 

" His two chamberlains 
Will I with wine and wassail so convince." 

858. Welcome for a river. Charles XII., with Mazeppa and 
their few hundred followers fled to the Borysthenes, or Dnieper, which 
river they swam. Thence they proceeded across a desolate stretch 
of coimtry until they reached Bender, a town in Turkish territory, 
where they were received with hospitality by the Pasha. Here 
Mazeppa contracted a disease from which he died. Charles suceeded 
in getting back again to his kingdom. 

QUESTIONS ON MAZEPPA. 

I 

1. Wliat is there in this stanza that arouses interest in the story 
to follow? 

2. .Judging from the latter part of this stanza, what was BjTon's 
attitude toward Napoleon? 

3. What kind of story does this first stanza lead us to expect? 



150 LORD BYRON. 



II 

4. What is the nature of the poet's feehngs for Charles — - sym- 
pathetic or otherwise? Reason for answer. 

5. How do the loyalty and sacrifices of his followers affect our 
sympathy for Charles? 

6. What human qualities worthy of admiration are illustrated in 
this stanza? 

7. By what means other than his personal traits, does the author 
arouse our interest in Charles? 

8. How far is this characterization of Charles historically correct? 

Ill 

9. In what way were the remaining followers of Charles chival- 
rous? 

10. How many of these first stanzas are purely introductory? 

11. Point out the various steps in this introduction. 

12. By what means does the author draw attention to Mazeppa? 

13. What things told of Mazeppa give him a sympathetic place 
in our minds? 

14. What qualities of the master are suggested by the character- 
ization of the steed? 

IV 

15. What additional traits of Mazeppa 's character are given here? 

16. What indications are there in this and the preceding stanza 
that Mazeppa and not Charles is the central figure in the story? 

17. Why does he hesitate to tell his tale. 

18. Recapitulate the circumstances under which Mazeppa tells 
his story. 

19. Point out what things are essentially romantic about this 
setting. 

20. Is there anything in this introduction to his story to suggest 
the nature of the tale? 

21. Have we had any previous hint that Mazeppa was so old? 

22. Does this age seem inconsistent v»nth the facts given about 
Mazeppa? Reason for answer. 

23. Wliat contrasts are suggested in this stanza? 

24. How much interest do we have in Casimir? Why no more? 



NOTES. 151 

25. What significance in the reference to the poet who would 
not flatter? 

26. Why is the count made so uninteresting in character? 



27. What purpose in the contrast between Mazeppa in his earlier 
years and now? 

28. Which Mazeppa is more admirable, that of youth or that of 
old age? Why? 

29. Which is more truly romantic? Point out romantic char- 
acteristics in both. 

30. Compare the changes wrought in Mazeppa 's appearance with 
the transformation in the Prisoner of Chillon. What likeness and 
differences do you find? 

31. In what ways is Theresa made interesting? 

32. Do you find things that detract from your opinion of her, 
if so, what? 

33. Is Mazeppa consistent throughout in the tone of his char- 
acterization of Theresa? 

34. Is there anything in Mazeppa 's love for Theresa that calls 
for our respect? 

VI 

35. Do you find things in this stanza that seem inconsistent with 
the character of Mazeppa? 

36. Does the author arouse our sympathy for the lovers in the 
first part of this stanza? 

37. At just what point do we begin to feel for them? 

38. Wliat observations of the speaker seriously lessen our respect 
for his love of Theresa? 

VII 

39. Is the tone of the narrative here dignified? Reason for 
answer. 

40. What lines can you find in this and the preceding stanza 
that have parallels in Chillon? 

VIII 

41. What touches of flippancy are to be found in this stanza? ., 

42. Is there anything here that adds to the poem? 



152 LORD BYRON. 

43. What is there that detracts? 

44. Is there any preparation for the tragedy that follows? Pass 
criticism upon these last three stanzas. 

IX 

45. Wherein does the author depart from the true story of Mazep- 
pa? With what effect? 

46. Point out the dramatic qualities of this stanza. 

47. Distinguish between the dramatic and vivid characteristics. 

X 

48. What is it that makes the account vivid here — ^ picturesque- 
ness, intensity of feeling, or the rapidity with which the details are 
given? 

49. What is the effect of the reference to the "savage laughter" ? 

50. What incidents here reveal Mazeppa's character? 

51. What are the qualities of character here portrayed? 

52. Is this account of Mazeppa's vengeance an essential element 
of the story or a digression? 

53. Why is it given here? What is its effect? 

54. What information does this stanza give with respect to the 
personal feelings of the author? 

XI 

55. Show wherein the descriptive element is in harmony with the 
nature of the story. 

56. What effect is produced by mention of the "scarce seen 
battlement" ? 

57. What feeling does the account here awaken in the reader? 

58. Explain how the author makes the narrative so simple; so 
forcible. 

XII 

59. What is there unusual in the author's description of the 
effect of frost upon the forest? 

60. What is his purpose in giving a gruesome aspect to the scenery 
here? 

61. What effect is produced by the account that follows? 



NOTES. 153 

62. Which is more vivid, the nature picture, or the account of 
the pursuit by the wolves? 

63. Comment on the strength or weakness of the comparisons 
with which the stanza closes. 

64. What elements in this stanza are essentially romantic? 

XIII 

65. What is the nature of the descriptions in this stanza, sub- 
jective or objective? 

66. Explain the difference in effect between subjective and ob- 
jective description. 

67. What lines in this stanza may apply to the author as well 
as to Mazeppa? 

68. Compare this stanza with stanzas VIII and IX of the Pris- 
oner of Chillon, pointing out elements of likeness and difference? 

69. What elements of Mazeppa 's character are shown in the 
last part of this stanza? 

XIV 

70. Compare this stanza with stanza X of the Prisoner of Chillon. 
What likenesses do you discover? 

71. How much time has elapsed since the ride began? 

72. What is there wildly romantic about this scene? 

73. Does this stanza add to or take from the horror of the ride? 

XV 

74. What is the nature of the description in this stanza? Com- 
pare with stanza XIII. 

75. Does this stanza in any way mark the nearing end of the 
awful ride? If so, why? 

76. What is there in the stanza that leads us to exp>ect that 
Mazeppa will be rescued? 

XVI 

77. What are we led to expect from the beginning of this stanza? 

78. Which predominates here, description, narration, or ex- 
position? Find examples of each. 

79. What effect is produced by the closing lines? 



154 LORD BYRON, 



XVII 

80. By what means is the desolateness of the scene emphasized? 

81. What elements make the first part of this stanza vivid? 

82. Of what value is the account of the "thousand horse" to 
the story as a whole? 

83. Distinguish between the description and the exposition in 
the second half of this stanza. 

84. What is Mazeppa's mental condition? Describe it. 

85. What is the nature of the feelings with which the account 
here inspires the reader? 

XVIII 

86. What is the author's purpose in giving the incident of the 
raven? 

87. Is vividness here attained by the rapidity with which details 
are given, or by holding the picture before us? 

88. What is the effect of the introduction of the "lovely star"? 

89. Byron is a master in the portrayal of what kind of feelings? 

XIX 

90. What effect is produced by the abrupt transition from the 
preceding scene to the one portrayed here? 

91. What is the value of the contrast between the two scenes? 

92. What is the poet's purpose in introducing the Cossack maid? 

93. Compare the portrayal of the Cossack maid and the portrayal 
of Theresa early in the poem with respect to tone, to feeling. 

94. What purpose has the poet in giving us this sympathetic 
account of the maid? 

XX 

95. Does the author wish us to understand that the maid be- 
came Mazeppa's wife? Reasons for answer. 

96. What is the lesson that Mazeppa draws from his story? 

97. What purpose has he in drawing a lesson from it? 

98. What relation do the last fifteen lines bear to the poem? 

99. Are we content to know nothing more about the fate of 
Charles and Mazeppa? Give reason for answer. 



SEP 8 19C5 



iiil 




